Outlaw's Angel

by Colleen Quinn

  A stilted knock sounded outside. Devon nodded silently and Shannon scuttled into place, composing her features before answering the door. Standing to one side, she murmured a polite greeting as Lord Cambridge entered. A tall man, only a few years Devon’s senior, he was nevertheless a notorious gambler, drinker, and rake. The gaming halls of London rang with his deeds every season. Though not especially handsome, the allure of his money and his habit of indulging his vices made him irresistible to most women.

  Shannon was an exception. She stared at Lord Cambridge, her green eyes measuring him as he bowed to her formally. She disliked him instantly. There was something about him, a coldness in his eyes, that reminded her of a snake her younger brother had caught and insisted on keeping for a pet.

  “Lord Cambridge. I am honored.” Devon stood up, shaking the gentleman’s hand.

  “The honor is mine.” Lord Cambridge took the seat and drew closer to the fire. He gave Shannon an appreciative perusal as she filled two glasses with brandy and brought them on a tray.

  “Ah, a good brandy. Hopefully not as potent as my own. I apologize for your mishap last night. I should have warned you I indulge only in the best.”

  “Right.” Devon grinned, amazed at the nerve of the man. He refused to get angry, recognizing Lord Cambridge’s attempt to shake his composure. Devon offered the deck and waited patiently while his Lordship examined the cards, then handed them to Shannon with a flirtatious wink.

  “Why not let the lady cut them? I always say a pretty woman brings luck to the hand.”

  “Shannon has other duties, don’t you dear?” Devon said quickly.

  “I’m sure she does,” Lord Cambridge said, his voice full of meaning. “But whatever they are, I am certain they can wait.” He sat back. Shannon halved the cards, gasping in astonishment when Lord Cambridge patted her rounded bottom, treating her to a knowing smirk at the same time. Her temper flared, but Devon, correctly interpreting her expression, leaned over and picked up the cards.

  “Would you care to begin? Or is your mind elsewhere tonight?”

  “Now, Devon, there’s no need to get annoyed. I’ve never seen you hesitate when it comes to a pretty skirt. After all, if the lass is yours, enjoy her. You haven’t much time, with your impending marriage, I daresay.”

  “Deal,” Devon said quickly, ignoring Shannon’s wrath. Thankfully, the Irish girl retreated to a corner of the room, out of Lord Cambridge’s reach. The ivory cards flickered in the candlelight, their secrets hidden by ornate backings and the players’ careful expressions. The room grew deathly silent. Devon dropped two cards face down and asked for replacements. Lord Cambridge complied, then helped himself to a card. Time was measured in the wax dripping from the candles. Inch-deep puddles surrounded the pewter candle holders when Shannon replaced their drinks. Both Devon and Lord Cambridge had amassed equal piles of coin.

  “You play a hard game,” Cambridge said, wiping his brow with a lace handkerchief. He smiled indulgently at Shannon, drawing her into his lap when she finished pouring the drink.

  “Sir, unhand me! I insist!” Shannon wriggled successfully out of his grasp, longing to slap him. Lord Cambridge chuckled. Devon calmly replaced his drink, giving his Lordship a steady stare.

  “Cambridge, I must insist that you leave the poor girl alone.”

  “Devon, Devon! What’s one wench from another? Though I declare, I am interested in this one. It must be that sparkle in her eye. She’d make a lively bed partner, no doubt.” He chuckled at Shannon’s outrage. “In fact, why don’t we make this game more interesting? Double or nothing.”

  Devon’s face did not change, but Shannon detected a shift in his emotions.

  “You know I don’t have more than that”—Devon indicated the coin. “You made certain of it last night.”

  “My boy!” Lord Cambridge chuckled. “You make too much of it! But if your finances are strained—which, being so far from home, is understandable—then I suggest an alternative. I’ll double the coin, and you bet the wench.”

  Shannon choked, shaking her head at Devon, alarmed at the way his eyes measured her. A slow smile crossed his face. He sat back, his booted feet together, his glance measuring the coin. Double or nothing…

  “Deal,” Devon decided.

  “What!” Shannon couldn’t believe her own ears. He just couldn’t. Not even Devon would be so callous….“I will be party to no such thing! If you think for one minute…”

  “Shannon, may I see you outside?” Devon hoisted her by the arm through the doorway, ignoring Lord Cambridge’s chuckles. He had scarcely closed the door when Shannon was upon him.

  “Are you mad? I am not your whore to be wagered at some card game! The nerve of you!”

  “Quiet!” Devon pulled her away from the door, blocking her voice with a well-placed hand. “Now, Shannon, listen. Please. We’ve got him right where we want him. Double or nothing. I can win back everything he took last night, and then some. We can finish out this trip in style.”

  “And what if you lose?” Shannon hissed.

  “I won’t,” Devon said confidently. “Remember the plan? And just think, we’ll get to Marisa that much faster, with a proper carriage, food, and horses.”

  “Devon, I swear to the Saints, if you lose…”

  “Don’t worry, Shannon,” Devon smiled charmingly. He led her back into the room, giving Lord Cambridge an apologetic grin.

  “Saucy wench for a maid, isn’t she?” He gave Shannon a leer. “But I like that. Is the bet settled?”

  “Aye,” Devon replied. “Shannon has agreed. But just one hand decides. Winner takes the girl.”

  Shannon fumed, her eyes promising retribution as Devon returned to the game. Lord Cambridge shuffled, chuckling all the while. “You will not regret it, my dear,” he said with a knowing grin that made Shannon wince. “You will be wonderful, I know.”

  “Deal the cards,” Devon snapped.

  “My, my, we are testy,” Lord Cambridge said, doling out the hand. Devon asked for three replacements, his Lordship one. Shannon nearly panicked. Wondering silently whether to flee or to stick it out, the choice was taken from her when Devon sat back in his chair.

  “The room is stuffy. Shannon, why not open the window?”

  Lord Cambridge did not pause as Shannon crossed the room behind him and unlocked the glass panes. Opening the window, she waited a moment, then crossed again in back of his Lordship, this time glancing into his hand. Although part of the cards were covered, she could clearly discern two face cards and no aces. Returning to the table, she pretended to fix her hair, using two fingers.

  Devon played his part admirably. He scarcely looked up, frowning at his cards instead, attracting Lord Cambridge more to his actions than Shannon’s. Requesting another card, he ignored his Lordship’s chuckle, sighing in regret.

  “Let us sweeten the bet,” Lord Cambridge said, tossing the remainder of his coins onto the pile

  Devon’s confident grin vanished. “You can’t be that sure.”

  “Can’t I, lad?” Cambridge grinned. “It could be merely a ruse to throw you off. You can’t know, can you? Would you prefer to quit?”

  “No,” Devon said, ignoring Shannon’s frightened look.

  “As you wish.” Lord Cambridge placed his hand on the table, his lace cuff partially hiding a card. “I believe I win.”

  Aghast, Devon stared at the cards. There was no mistake. His eyes flew to Shannon’s. The Irish girl leaned forward, her face whitening as she surveyed the cards. It couldn’t be. There were only two face cards in his hand a moment ago, and now two queens and an ace stared back at her.

  “I believe I’ll claim my reward.” Lord Cambridge slid his arm through Shannon’s, grinning as he did so.

  “Devon!” Shannon hissed. “Do something!”

  “You can’t go yet,” Devon said lamely. “One more hand, double the bet.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cambridge said regretfully, his hand tightening on Shannon. “I
have an early day tomorrow. And I want some time to enjoy the fruits of my labor.”

  “You bastard.” Devon leaped to his feet, Cambridge raising a questioning eyebrow.

  “Do not think of doing something foolish, my friend. My servant waits outside, just in case of such an event. You do recall One Shot Harry? I thought as much.”

  “Devon!” Shannon shouted as Lord Cambridge carried her, squirming and kicking, from the room. Devon watched the door slam in his face, before cursing and tossing the brandy glass well across the room.

  At dawn, Kyle found himself at the Falcon Tavern when the messenger arrived. The party had conveniently rejoined there, long after the more proper gathering in the hall had withered with the greying of the eastern sky. After seeing Marisa safely to her room, Kyle was filled with thoughts of her, her body clothed in a damp filmy shift like a cloud of milkweed. Normally a solitary man, he was unwilling this morning to be alone. Conversation would prevent further thoughts of Marisa, as would a vast quantity of ale.

  Douglass saw that he had both. Signalling to Mac, he had Kyle’s cup refilled continually. He understood how difficult it was for Kyle to handle his emotions where the lovely Marisa was concerned. It was a damnable situation. Kyle’s notions of chivalry would never permit him to marry, not when he was living under a sentence and committed to his country. And yet, Douglass was beginning to wonder if it was worth the price. Privately, he feared it was not.

  “Drink up, man! Are ye abstaining?”

  Kyle smiled calmly, watching Douglass fill his cup to the brim. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.” Seated on a long bench at a bawdy tavern, surveying all that went on around him through slightly intoxicated eyes, Kyle made an impressive figure. His long body was stretched out on a bench like a Roman aristocrat enjoying a night of debauchery.

  Douglass grinned, then the smile vanished. “Is that your man from London?”

  Kyle lifted his head languidly, watching as the hawk-faced man approached.

  “Rainsford,” Kyle said. The man nodded, then took Douglass’s cup. After drinking noisily from it, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and grinned.

  “One and the same.”

  Kyle smiled. Rainsford was an unassuming man, the type that would blend into a crowd yet be welcomed for a night of ale swilling by his warm-humored ways. He shuffled through life like an old but uncanny bloodhound, ferreting out secrets in such a clumsy manner that no one realized he’d betrayed anything until it was too late.

  “How did you find London?” Douglass asked, peering into the bottom of his cup with a frown.

  “Hot,” Rainsford responded quickly.

  Kyle laughed, the sound mingling pleasantly with Douglass’s loud chuckle. But the levity left his voice as quickly as it came. “Did you learn anything?”

  “Aye.” Rainsford smoothed his mustache and leaned closer to Kyle with an air of importance. “You’ve aroused quite an interest in London. The town is abuzz with legends of the Avenging Angel. Fair maidens cry out in their sleep, whether from fear or desire my sources can’t discern.” Then, abruptly, “The duke is willing to talk. He wants the young lady returned immediately.”

  “Ah.” Kyle smiled confidently, taking a delicate sip from his cup and focusing carefully on the messenger. “Did he agree to our terms?”

  “He refuses to negotiate until the girl is safely home. Apparently, the duke has little love or trust for Highlanders.”

  “Pity,” Kyle said coldly. “He will have to learn to trust if he wants Marisa back.”

  “I wonder about that.”

  Kyle looked at Rainsford sharply, but the man would not meet his eyes. He was hiding something. Kyle studied him covertly, aware of the slight twitch in his eyelids and the nervous way he glanced around the room.

  “Why? Did something else happen? I want all of the information.”

  Rainsford shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. “Well, since ye asked…The young lord has come after Marisa. He is somewhere in the lowland region at this point. I’ve traced him as far as an old woman’s hut. Seems he spent the night there.”

  “Devon?” Kyle’s silvery glance lost some of its pleasant intoxication.

  “Devon. He means to get his fiancée back on his own,”

  “’Tis strange that milord would soil his linen in such a journey,” Kyle said thoughtfully.

  “Apparently he is attached to the girl. Although the marriage was arranged through Alastair Travers and the duke—who, by the way, have some odd relationship for a merchant and nobility—the young lord seems devoted to the chit. Why else would he travel halfway across the country just to safeguard her return? It is certainly not like the Devon I’ve heard tell of.”

  “Nor I,” Douglass said. “What do you make of it, Angel?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Kyle replied, his eyes glittering strangely. Devon. Travelling halfway across the country, for Marisa. That the woman was worth it, Kyle couldn’t deny. But strangely, he hadn’t thought that Devon, the dandified fop who’d betrayed him in London, could have feelings for Marisa. And she for him? Without knowing it, Kyle’s lips tightened, his jaw working imperceptibly into a painful tension. Could she have fooled him all this time, used him as her lover, a safeguard until her fiancée caught up with them? With another woman, he would not have thought twice, but Marisa was as intelligent as she was beautiful. It would have occurred to him in her situation, and he would have done exactly the same thing. Could he blame her for wanting to survive, in the easiest possible way?

  “Kyle?”

  Kyle glanced up, amazed to see that Rainsford had gone, vanishing like a spectre into the smoke-filled room. Douglass stared at him, obviously worried. “Kyle, ye don’t think that—”

  “—that Marisa is perhaps devoted to Lord Sutcliffe?” Kyle shrugged, his smile terrible. “Why not? He is her affianced. He is also of her class. Their families are close; he can offer her everything.”

  “But I don’t think…”

  “A man like Devon does not drop everything and chase after a woman if she means nothing to him,” Kyle said, his voice containing as much warmth as a cirrus cloud. “It only stands to reason that the man believes his feelings are reciprocated. Strange that I had not taken this into account before now.”

  “Kyle, ye won’t do anything rash?”

  The Angel smiled, but it was without a trace of amusement. “Do not fear, Douglass. Our little Danaid will not suffer because of what Rainsford said. It is I who have been the fool.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lord Cambridge’s smile could more accurately be described as a leer as he faced Shannon across the table.

  “Enough of your shyness, my Irish rose,” he grinned. “Come, sit on my lap and give me a big kiss. I won you, after all.”

  “Milord,” Shannon choked on the formality, but she sought to appeal to the man’s sense of decency, “you had to know I wasn’t party to that ridiculous wager. Devon thought he would win. Neither of us intended for me to—”

  “—share my bed this night?” Lord Cambridge slowly unbuttoned the lace cuffs of his shirt while Shannon gulped. “But that you will, my dear. A bet is a bet.”

  “But that hand was impossible!”

  “How would you know that, Miss Shannon, unless you were cheating? My hand won; now it’s only fair that you pay up. We are quite alone, my dear.” He gestured to her dress. “Do not be shy. My mouth waters to think of what that frock hides.”

  Thinking quickly, Shannon clutched her stomach, forcing a pained expression without too much difficulty.

  “Is something wrong?” his Lordship asked impatiently, already fingering the buttons of his trousers.

  “Why, yes,” Shannon replied. “You see, I need to…that is…”

  Lord Cambridge smiled. “I see. I am not totally without sympathy for your situation, in spite of what you may think. I will allow you a few minutes in which to prepare yourself. There is wine on the ta
ble and a chamber pot beneath the bed.” He bowed graciously. “I shall return shortly. Pray make use of the time.”

  “Thank you, milord,” Shannon said. She stood meekly to one side until Lord Cambridge firmly shut the door and his footsteps died in the hall. Without wasting a precious moment, Shannon tried the portal, disappointed to find it was locked. The window and the servant’s door yielded the same result. Frustrated, Shannon searched the room, looking for a tool, something she could use to force the door.

  The room was sumptuously furnished, with a huge poster bed, a dresser, a small table and two chairs, and a desk. Rifling carelessly through the man’s belongings, Shannon found nothing. At last the desk caught her eye. She opened the tiny drawer and grasped the letter opener she found there.

  God hears some of my prayers, she thought, taking the thin blade and jimmying it between the door and the frame. At first the rusty lock refused to yield. Then, gradually, she heard a grating noise and was rewarded by a loosening of the handle. Unfortunately, at the same time, footsteps resumed outside. Holding her breath for what seemed to be forever, Shannon sighed with relief as she recognized the voice on the other side.

  “Shannon? It’s me, Devon. Can you open the door?”

  “If I could do that, I’d be out of here!” Shannon snapped. “I have a letter opener jammed in the lock. If you push…”

  Before she could finish, Devon thrust himself against the door, forcing the lock to give. He burst into the room, unprepared for the reception that greeted him.

  “You swine!” Shannon doubled her fist and hit him square in his mid region. Devon caught her in his arms, preventing another attack while he gasped for breath. “What were you planning to do, leave me here after you got me into this mess?” Shannon hissed, writhing in his arms, trying to land a kick or a thrust of an elbow.