Daniel and the Angel

by Jill Barnett

  From her tone, one would have thought he'd told her she had a wart on her nose. He had felt so damned awkward. All day, no matter what, he couldn't do anything to please her. It annoyed the hell out of him.

  The next moment the carriage stopped where the street ended and the opera house reigned. He shoved open the door and silently helped her down, holding her arm as he led her along the sidewalk. Just ahead of them, New York society crowded outside and on the steps like cattle hungry for hay.

  On the walks and along the neighboring buildings were spectators, out to get a glimpse of Vanderbilts and Rockefellers. And beggars, out to get what they could. The indigent lined the sidewalks, clinging to worn woolen mufflers and rusty tin cans.

  Lilli took one look at them and stopped as if she had suddenly grown roots. She pulled her arm from his grip and walked away from him toward the line of poor, her face showing every emotion she felt.

  "Lillian."

  She ignored him.

  He watched, horrified, as she unscrewed an extremely expensive diamond and platinum earring and started to toss it into the nearest outstretched tin can.

  "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted, grabbing her hand.

  She looked up at him with surprise, then concern. She looked at the beggars, then back at him.

  "Someone has to help them." She placed her hand on his arm.

  He looked at her for a very long time. Had he ever been that kind and innocent?

  "No matter how solitary your world is, Daniel, not everyone is strong enough to make it all alone."

  He knew he'd lost.

  Her voice became even smaller. "They could be fallen angels."

  He dug into his pocket. His voice was more gruff than he'd have liked when he said, "Put the earring back on." He held out a handful of money.

  An instant later he received a gift worth more than any fortune.

  Lilli's smile.

  * * *

  It was the longest night she could remember.

  She must have met a hundred people like Daniel. Women stared at her jewelry with covetous eyes. Men talked money and business while they looked at her—not her jewelry—with those same covetous looks. Two of those same men pinched her when Daniel had his back turned.

  She'd lost count of the number of people who said "Worth? How lovely," never meaning a word they said. She wondered if Hell was in truth one big New York society party.

  And Daniel. From the moment they walked inside, he had kept her close, his hand on her arm. When he looked at her it was from a dark gaze that bordered on obsession, as if she were something necessary to him, desperately necessary. It caught her off guard, because when he looked at her that way she sensed a vulnerability in him that she hadn't actually seen before. His grip would tighten, and he would turn and look at her as if he thought she might not be there. It made the night tense and difficult for her. She supposed she should have been grateful that the long night had been cut short.

  The reason? There had been a harp solo.

  Lilli sat in the balcony, her forehead resting on one hand, when, one by one, every harp string broke. A series of boing! Boing! Boing! There were just some things that were the same whether she was in Heaven or on Earth. Either that, or God had a strange sense of humor.

  But now, over an hour later, she stood in the gold suite, dressed in Daniel's silk shirt—the one she loved to sleep in—and looked out the window at a world she didn't understand. In a moment of unexplained whimsy, she reached out and drew a heart in the frost on the window.

  The moment she finished, she sensed that she was no longer alone. She turned.

  Daniel stood in the room, half turned away, his hand just locking the door behind him. He turned back and leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed.

  He studied her as if he wasn't going to stop looking for a long time. He was still in his dress shirt and black pants, but his tail coat and white tie were gone, and two of the onyx and diamond studs near the collar of his shirt were undone.

  As casual as he appeared standing there, she knew that some part of him wanted to intimidate. It was his protection. It was how he hid his vulnerable side—the side that held on to her because he was afraid she would leave him. She saw the rigidness in his square jaw, the tension in his neck, the raw need in his black eyes.

  She moved to the bed and sat in its center, not knowing exactly why he was there and feeling small and overwhelmed. She cocked her head and looked in his face, searching for answers before she asked her question.

  He shoved off from the wall and moved toward her.

  "Why do you always look at me that way?"

  He stopped at the foot of the bed, looking down at her from an intimidating height. "What way is that?"

  "As if you're hungry."

  She had startled him.

  He gave a quiet, sardonic laugh that said the joke was on him. "It's that obvious? I must be losing my poker face."

  There was a force of some kind between them. There had been from the first moment she'd ever seen him. Now that force was so strong she could feel the pull of it closing in, even the small space that separated them.

  He placed one knee on the mattress, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek, then slide through her hair, holding her head in his palm. He pulled her to him gently—too gently for a man with such power.

  With a touch as soft as the brush of a snowflake, he kissed her. His hands moved to her waist and lifted her, then he sat down on the bed, pulling her into his lap as his mouth tasted her.

  The stars in Heaven were with her suddenly in a wealth of emotion that confused her. His fingers traced her jaw and he pulled his mouth away, only to kiss her face and eyes, her cheeks and ears.

  "Let me make you forget the past, Lillian. Forget the man who ruined you."

  She cupped his rough chin in her hands. "No one ruined me, Daniel. I ruined myself."

  His eyes narrowed, and he ran a thumb over her bottom lip. "You're too generous. It takes a man to make a fallen woman."

  Stunned, she sat back, dropping her hands. "A what?"

  "I know what happened to you. You cried about it after the accident."

  "You think I'm a fallen woman?" She felt the inklings of a smile.

  He gave her that direct look of his. "You admitted it, Lilli. You said you were fallen and ashamed. Y ou won't tell me where you are from. I assumed that's because you've been disowned."

  She laughed, just a small laugh, but a laugh just the same.

  His black expression said he didn't think this was funny.

  "I'm not a fallen woman, Daniel. I'm a fallen angel."

  But strength alone though of Muses born,

  Is like a fallen angel; trees uptorn.

  —John Keats

  Chapter Ten

  CALL IT WHAT YOU LIKE, LILLIAN. Fallen angel. Soiled dove. I don't really care." D.L. grabbed her by the shoulders. " Your past is not my concern."

  "No." She shook her head. "I am an angel. Or at least I was one."

  He looked at her, thinking she was making a joke.

  "Truly. I had a lovely halo, and wings, but I couldn't perform any miracles so—"

  He felt his pride and the deep wound to it from her lies. He tensed and stood up abruptly. "If you aren't interested...say so. Don't make these ridiculous excuses."

  "It's the truth."

  "You expect me to believe that you’re an angel."

  "A fallen angel."

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the bedpost. "Prove it."

  "I don't know how I can prove it. You tell me how to make you believe me."

  "How am I supposed to know? You're the heavenly being." His voice dripped in sarcasm and he waved his hand angrily. "Ask for divine guidance. Hell...sprout wings and fly around the bloody room."

  "Why are you so angry? I can't help what I am."

  "Then why are you making up this stupid tale? I told you. I don't care what you are, or even what you've been. But don't—don't lie
to me."

  "You don't believe me."

  "You tell me you're an angel and then expect me to believe you?" He ran a hand through his hair and paced in front of her. "God, that's rich!"

  She gave him that look—the one that said more than words that he had let her down. "I'm not surprised that you'd use such a phrase."

  He froze. "What's wrong with it?"

  "Do you want me to answer that? Honestly?"

  "You're the angel." He heard the cruelty in his laugh. "You tell me."

  "Okay. You want truth, I'll give you truth. The painful truth. You think only in terms of money. Everything is money with you. You offer me money to listen to you, to get in your carriage. You try to buy everything and everyone."

  He stood there, just watching her, listening to her tell him things he didn't care to hear, especially from her.

  "You can't even give a woman a compliment, Daniel. Did you say 'Lillian, you look lovely'? No. You said 'You wear wealth beautifully.'"

  She made him sound incredibly pompous.

  "Don't you know there are things more important than money or fortunes or gold?"

  He was stiffly silent, yet deep inside him he flinched at the sincerity in her voice.

  "Is it truly that hard for you to understand? People shouldn't be bought. They should be respected. Even the most ragged and beggarly person in New York is still a human being. Can't you find it in your heart to help them, even one of them, all on your own?"

  He was still silent, his jaw tight, his chin raised.

  "And look at your house."

  "What's wrong with my house?"

  "You collect things."

  "You make it sound as if that's a criminal act."

  "Not criminal. Sad. Look at this room." She waved her hand around.

  He gave it a cursory glance. There was nothing wrong with the room. It was the best his money could buy. "Yes?"

  "It's filled with collections. Priceless art, perfect porcelain, but nothing…alive. And the color."

  "What about the color?"

  "Look around you. Open your eyes. Everything is gold—as if gold, wealth, is the most important thing in the world. This is not a home you live in. It's a temple to the almighty dollar."

  He didn't look at the room. He looked at her. "You criticize my house because I won't believe this foolishness that you're an angel."

  "No! You don't understand."

  "You're the angel. Work a miracle and make me understand."

  She began to pace alongside the bed. Grabbing the bedpost, she stopped and looked at him again. "Okay. It's Christmas. What is the first thought that comes into your mind when I say the word Christmas?"

  Tipping everyone was his first thought, but he'd be damned if he'd admit it.

  "Ah-ha!" She pointed a finger at him. "You thought of money just then."

  "You're guessing."

  "I'm certain. The gleam of avarice in your eyes was hard to miss. Nowhere in this entire house is there any sign of Christmas. No greenery. No tree. Nothing. And what about your servants?"

  "What about them?"

  "Do you give them special holidays to be with their families?"

  "They'll be compensated."

  "Money again." She walked over to him and, placing her hands on his chest, looked up at him as if she expected him to be something he wasn't— something he didn't understand.

  "Can't you see what’s wrong? Can't you at least try to understand?"

  When she looked at him that way, he almost thought that perhaps he could be different. But he didn't know if he could give her what she wanted, what she asked. Because he didn't understand it, and that scared the hell out of him.

  His gaze moved to her mouth, because he had to look at her. His look wandered slowly down the shirt and her legs. His anger turned to want, the need that seemed to consume him since that first night when she'd caught him looking at her.

  He wanted her now, but his pride reminded him that he had for so many years had everything on his own terms. He made the rules.

  "Please don't look at me like that," she said to him.

  "Why not? I paid for the privilege."

  She flinched as if he had hit her.

  Silently he stood there, part of him wanting to take the words back, and another part of him—pride and anger and rejection—not allowing him to move or speak. Everything was all mixed up in his head and his heart.

  She stepped away, raising her hand as if to fend off a demon, her expression half horror, half hurt. "I can't do this," she said under her breath. "I can't."

  She looked ready to bolt.

  He grabbed her then. "Don't leave. Lilli, don't leave."

  She watched him for a long time. "Daniel," she whispered. "What is it? What are you so afraid of?"

  He shook his head. "Promise me. You won't leave like you did before."

  "Why?"

  He let go of her and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry." He turned away, feeling vulnerable and open, naked in her eyes. He just left her standing there because he needed to think and he couldn't think with her looking at him that way. He crossed the room and opened the door.

  "Daniel?" Her voice was so soft he wasn't certain he'd heard it.

  He paused and took a deep breath.

  "I'll stay."

  He exhaled and loosened his death grip on the door handle. He nodded, because he couldn't find his voice, and he left, closing the door behind him.

  He leaned against it for a moment, then had an insane thought. Perhaps she was an angel.

  * * *

  Lilli stood at the window and watched Daniel's carriage pull away from the house. He'd left later this morning than normally. She'd been waiting and watching. She threw on a dark red cloak and tied on a matching bonnet.

  She walked to the bedroom door and stopped suddenly, snapping her fingers. She ran back and grabbed a purse that was sitting on a chair, then she went back to the door, where she listened to make certain no one was in the hallway.

  Cracking the door a smidgen, she peered out. The coast was clear. She left the bedroom and hurried to the gallery that ran next to the stairs. Her hands on the gallery railing, she looked down into the foyer.

  It was empty.

  She moved to the top of the stairs and started to tiptoe down. She paused. She couldn't help herself. She then sat on the banister and slid to the bottom, landing perfectly and quietly.

  A minute later she was running down the steps and away from the house, and she never looked back.

  Chapter Eleven

  D.L. STOOD IN THE WINDOW of his company office, his hands in his pockets, as he watched the traffic on the street below. A delivery boy in a blue coat with gold epaulets and a gold-brimmed hat came running through the crowd outside his building.

  A few minutes later he heard the chain hoist on the elevator. He stood there, tense and tight, as he waited. The door burst open and the boy rushed inside.

  "I went as fast as I could, Mr. Stewart!" The lad was out of breath, which D.L. thought appropriate, since he himself was holding his.

  "I spoke to your butler, and he said to tell you Miss Lillian is still asleep."

  D.L. closed his eyes and sagged back against the windowsill. He felt the tension he'd been living with all morning drain away. He suddenly remembered himself and straightened, then shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar gold piece. "Fine." He flipped it to the boy.

  The boy snatched it out of the air grinning. "Thank you, sir." He turned to leave.

  "Willy?"

  The boy paused and turned back. "Yes, sir?"

  "Where's your family?"

  Willy's mouth fell open, then he suddenly snapped it shut. "Hoboken, sir."

  D.L. nodded, then turned around and looked out the window. "If one wanted to buy some Christmas greenery and perhaps a tree, where is the best place to go?"

  "The freshest greens are at the Washington Market, near the docks on the North River. Most of the freight bar
ges dock there, sir."

  "I see," D.L. said, lost in thought.

  A few minutes passed, and then Willy cleared his throat.

  D.L. turned back.

  "Is that all, sir?"

  "Yes. But one more thing." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of gold pieces. He stared at them for a moment. He looked at Willy and handed them to him and said, "Take off the two days before Christmas and spend them with your family."

  "But sir—"

  "With pay. Consider it payment for information."

  Willy grinned. "Yes, sir!"

  D.L. watched the door close, and a few seconds later heard a loud whoop echo down the hallway. His lips twitched slightly as he reached for his topcoat and hat, and he was smiling when he left his office.

  A few minutes later his carriage pulled away from the Stewart Building, headed for the Washington Market in lower Manhattan.

  * * *

  D.L. strolled through the marketplace, where Christmas greens were piled like cords of wood along the walks and twined up awning posts and around storefront windows. Booths were made up of barrels with rising latticework that looked like arbors. And from them hung festoons of every shade and thicket of greenery from Maine to the Catskills.

  Three ropes of greenery hung from around D.L.'s neck, and in one hand was a basket filled with holly, red roses, and rolls of ribbon. And the purchase he was most proud of, a large bouquet of snow-white lilies.

  He walked along, breathing in the tangy clean scent of pine and trying to picture Lilli's face when he surprised her.

  Her face wasn't difficult to imagine since she was standing just a few feet away from him.

  She was bent over a little boy, who was looking up at her with serious wide eyes. He held a tin whistle in one hand, and under the other arm was a mechanical cow with a brass bell around its neck.

  D.L. moved closer and listened.

  "Yes, Alfred, it's true," Lilli was saying. "Didn't you know that?"

  The boy shook his head.

  "I have a rhyme to help you remember. Do you want to hear it?"