Alex's Angel

by Natasha Blackthorne

“And if I absolutely refuse?”

  “Then I’d consider it a breach of our contract.”

  Hurt swelled in her chest and she had to blink hard against the sting in her eyes. He would really use that contract to bully her to his will like this? Their lovemaking had not been the deep experience of sharing it had seemed. It couldn’t have been. Or else he couldn’t have treated her like this now. It had been a product of too much wine and her deep sympathy for his pain. She should never have given herself.

  She was a girlish fool.

  She turned away from him and walked over to where Rachel waited.

  * * * *

  Emily spent the entire carriage ride fighting angry tears. Somehow she had lost all say over her art, over her actions. All in the name of getting her book printed, yes, but it was hard to accept gracefully. Would it even remain her message, once it was printed and given into the hands of men who wanted to use it to further their own cause? She had to maintain her faith that her stamp upon the work was so strong and heartfelt that it would shine through. Because she couldn’t wait any longer. Too much time had passed already. The nation needed to see her work. She had to take this opportunity to get her book printed and presented to the people.

  When the carriage stopped, she numbly followed Rachel into the mantua maker’s.

  Once in the shop, Rachel warmed, throwing herself into the role of benefactress and spending Alex’s money with an abandon that only increased the young woman’s nervousness. Emily counted orders for at least a fortnight’s worth of garments in brilliant jewel tones of wool, silk and India muslin.

  “But I’ll only need one or two frocks,” Emily protested. “And I can sleep in my shift.”

  Frowning, Rachel waved her off and continued to order garments.

  Looking at all the patterns, at the beautiful fabrics that would be transformed into real items just like the pictures, Emily realised that the dressmaker was an artist, just like herself. Why, beautiful gowns were works of art. How lucky the woman was to be able to get paid so well for her craft and to live so independently.

  But Emily didn’t dwell on that aspect. Instead, she began to look forward to seeing the wardrobe completed, to wearing the gowns. To feeling those sensual fabrics against her skin.

  Temptation held so many different faces. This was all just a distraction, threatening to pull Emily off her mission. But she couldn’t resist the pleasure of anticipation.

  After they’d left the dressmaker’s, Rachel pulled Emily along to the cobbler’s and the milliner’s. Emily’s head span—she was losing track of all that Rachel had ordered for her.

  “Gillyflower! Do you have it?” Rachel demanded at their last stop, a perfumery.

  “Of course, madam,” the man replied with a pleasant smile. “What products?”

  “Everything! We’ll need shampoo, soaps, talcum powder, French facial cream, bath oils, sachets—all scented with gillyflowers.” Rachel picked up a white ceramic jar, opening it and holding it to Emily’s face. “And the barest shade of rouge. But this is too bright.” She replaced the jar.

  “I have this, fresh from London. ‘Spring Primrose’. Very demure.” The shopkeeper brought forth another ceramic jar.

  Rachel opened it and nodded her approval, then made to apply some to Emily’s cheek.

  Emily backed away quickly. “Rogue!” she gasped, aghast to think of suffocating her skin with cosmetics.

  “Yes, of course. Just a touch, but you must be fashionable. Alex has demanded it.” Rachel waved her hand. “Here, child, be still, sit here in this chair.”

  Emily found herself propelled towards a wingchair and into a seated position. Rachel took a brush to Emily’s face, applying a coat of cosmetics from several jars.

  Eventually the shopkeeper procured a mirror and held it up to her.

  She expected to see her face caked and gaudy. But she couldn’t tell they had applied anything false. What she saw was a version of herself with smooth, velvet, flawless skin and radiantly glowing. Just like the other ladies she’d seen walking about Philadelphia.

  She reached her fingertips to her cheek, holding her breath, barely daring to touch.

  She’d thought those ladies’ special glow had come from breeding and was something she could never attain.

  Suddenly, against all her own reasoning, she wished, quite desperately, that Alex might see her like this. That he might think she was fashionable. Beautiful.

  She wanted to be a part of his world. A part of his life. She wanted it so desperately, her hands began to shake and her mouth went dry. She was losing herself, covering herself in fashionable clothes and cosmetics. Losing herself in sensual pleasures and idleness. Letting Alex mould her into something she never wanted to be. Just as he wanted to use her art for something it was never intended for.

  She started and turned back to Rachel.

  “Child, whatever is wrong?”

  “Can we get something to drink, some claret perhaps?”

  * * * *

  A few nights later, in his study, Alex watched Emily yawn with a slight twinge of guilt. He should not keep her up, but he needed to speak with her and for days his afternoon and evening hours had been taken up with meetings and important dinner parties. Every day for the foreseeable future promised the same. He tossed a pile of linen strips onto her lap and held out his hand. “Wrap my hand for me—no one else does as good a job.”

  She took his hand and examined it, tracing a fingertip over the healing cuts there. There was an impersonal, practical manner to her ministrations that unsettled him. Left him feeling cold inside.

  “Darling?”

  “Huh?” she asked, now deeply engrossed in wrapping his hand.

  “Did you get my gift?”

  He had arranged for a box of dried apricots to be sent on her dinner tray.

  “Yes, thank you.” Her expression remained neutral, telling him nothing of her mood or disposition towards him.

  “How did you and your grandmother come to be living in a boarding house in such desperate straits?”

  She glanced up. “So now we’re sharing the secrets of our pasts?”

  “You’re going to tell me everything and you’re going to tell me truthfully.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  He sighed. “I have already sent a man around to ask questions. I know a lot about your background. I wish to hear—”

  Her gaze sparked. She stopped wrapping his hand and let it drop to her lap. “You did what? You had a man go around poking into my past? What right did you have to do that?”

  “I had every right. I am responsible for you. And I found out that your father has a cousin here in the city. Now you tell me why you cannot go and live with this relation, or I shall take you there today.”

  Watching her bite her full lower lip, he didn’t think she would answer. Then she began, her voice soft. “Grandmother had a hard time adjusting to our change in circumstances when Grandfather died. Two years ago, the creditors took our house in Easton and most of the furnishings. All of my grandfather’s books.”

  Her tone made the loss of books sound like the worst of the tragedy.

  “What did your grandfather do for a living?”

  “He taught Latin.” Her face softened as she said this, her eyes shining with unmistakable affection.

  “But didn’t you have any relatives who could help you?”

  “Grandmother came from Virginia. Her father was a planter but she had been estranged from her family for years—I don’t know the details. And Grandfather’s people live in Boston. I never knew them. My father had a sister here in Philadelphia. And though Grandmother was my mother’s mother, we came here to stay with her. However, she and Grandmother did not get on well.”

  “Yes, but that was your grandmother. It doesn’t mean they wouldn’t open their home to you, a young unmarried female relation.”

  “Alex, believe me, they do not feel warmly towards me.” She fidgeted with the satin piping on the
edge of the settee. “When the epidemic broke out, Grandmother asked them to take me with them out of the city. I wouldn’t have gone, of course. I wouldn’t have left Grandmother alone—but they refused flatly. They said they wouldn’t have room for me.”

  A chill passed through his blood. “Well, then, you certainly cannot stay with them. What happened to your mother?”

  “My mother died shortly after my birth. With Papa at sea, I was raised by my mother’s parents. Grandfather died when I was eleven, leaving me alone with Grandmother.”

  “You say her name with such negative emotion. Was she really so terrible?”

  “No, not terrible. She was just a frail woman, Alex. She couldn’t cope with too many troubles. If I caused her the least worry, it gave her terrible megrims. I had to take great care not to disturb her. It made life very difficult at times, though, because she had so many requirements for her peace of mind.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like that I must always be at home. That I must read to her, that we must sing songs together every Sunday afternoon. That everything in the house must be in its exact proper place and be dust free. That I must not engage in unseemly behaviour. That I must never read unseemly materials. That I must associate only with the best people.”

  “And who were the best people?”

  Emily laughed with a catch in her breath. “No one we knew, that much is certain.”

  “So you had no suitors?”

  She shook her head with a tight, false-looking smile. “I think Grandmother rather hoped I wasn’t going to marry.” Sadness entered her eyes. “She said she’d be lost without me. It made me feel… I don’t know, desperate inside, trapped, when she said that.”

  “Your father was a common mariner?”

  “Yes—well, he was a captain once.”

  “Really? What happened?”

  “His ship was captured in the revolution. He was injured in the fray; hit in the head.” Her eyes were sad. “He was never the same. He could never make clear decisions again.”

  God, she’d been so sheltered from life and yet had suffered so many disadvantages. She deserved happiness in her adult life. She certainly deserved better than to be shackled to him. His chest tightened almost painfully. Damn it all, he wanted to keep her for himself. Yet he knew what he had to do.

  “You said you had no suitors, yet you know Dr Abbot.”

  “He was seeing a woman in the boarding house, but I came to know him mostly after the fever took Grandmother. He checked in on me and he was kind.”

  “He’s taken with you.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. I think he just sees me as a pitiful young woman who needs looking after.”

  “You’re wrong. He is taken with you. I heard the sound of his voice when he spoke of you. He’d offer for you, given the least chance.”

  Her eyes flashed with sudden defiance. “I don’t want to marry him.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t dismiss the idea out of hand. He seems a very good man with a promising future.” And he intended to make it lot more promising when John returned. He would introduce him to all the right people and ensure he had a wealthy clientele.

  Hadn’t he denied her the pleasure and satisfaction of being there when he interviewed the artisans for the woodcuts for her book, solely because he hadn’t wanted her to even meet any of them? He’d been concerned that she would see them as men of a like mind, artists, and become attached to one of them. She deserved a better life than being tied to a mere craftsman.

  “John hasn’t two dimes to rub together—I doubt he’s looking for a wife.”

  Alex turned away from her and crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s about to accept a well-paying position. Yes, he’ll be gone at least two years, but that would give you time to take art lessons, live your own life and work out all this skittishness about marriage.”

  Emily’s chest constricted and she swallowed tightly. Why was Alex talking about her marrying John? Did he wish to get rid of her so soon?

  Surely a love affaire lasted longer than this? No matter that she had thought to end things before, to have him wanting to end things now, in this moment hurt deeply. It appeared she had no control over the feelings of her heart.

  She tried to smile but her lips trembled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to pawn me off.”

  He turned back to her but didn’t smile. Coldness settled in her insides. Oh dear. He did wish to be rid of her. “You don’t know me, Emily—not really.”

  “How could I? You tell me nothing of yourself.” She jumped to her feet and walked about the study. The easel with its half-sketched map caught her eye. “From what I hear you’re never here. This is not where you live. You live out there on the seas, on the ships or in foreign lands.”

  His boots sounded behind her. She ignored them, still trying to make out some familiar shape from the curving lines on the paper. Her whole body attuned to his presence behind her. He touched her shoulders lightly.

  “You want to know something about me, my life?” He reached over her and traced a fingertip over one of those lines. “This is the coast of an island we found in the Pacific. I have not been able to find record of it anywhere else. I charter my voyages to survey the geography of distant places and correct inaccuracies in maps. Do you want to know why I do it?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Because it consumes me. It is one of the few things that I can truly lose myself in.”

  She turned and looked up at him. “You want to lose yourself?”

  “Yes, it’s all I want out of life now.” He stared back at her without a trace of his normal charm. He appeared much older. Weary. But worst of all was the terrible blankness in his eyes.

  She grasped his arm. Beneath the fine wool of his jacket his muscles went hard, as if he were defending himself against her touch. “You can’t mean that.”

  “If you were me, with my past, you would want to lose yourself, too.” His grim tone filled her with an echoing emptiness.

  She let go and stepped back. “Goodness, you say that so coldly.”

  He chuckled softly, somewhat sinisterly. “Don’t ever grieve for me when I am out of your life. The things we shared in bed, the pleasures we gave to each other, that’s all I can ever offer you.”

  His bleakness stabbed at her heart. Tears prickled eyes. Aside from his dictatorial stance with the contract in regards to her art, his kindness at other times, his company were things she valued every bit as much as their time in bed. Yes, despite it all, even if he were to be made a eunuch, she would still want to be around him. The last thought rocked through her, an epiphany that set her world off-kilter. Upset energy combined with an overwhelming sympathy and undeniable affection propelled her words. “No, that’s just simply not true!”

  “Some people are damaged inside. Some damage cannot be repaired.”

  “Yes, surely, but not you.”

  “Yes, it is the absolute truth. And I’ll tell you this again, to make sure you hear me, so you’ll know…”

  She put her hands over her ears. “No, I don’t want to hear any more of your self-denigration.”

  “It wouldn’t have lasted. I would have taken other women and hurt you.”

  She couldn’t believe that. He might use her art for the cause he believed in with all his being but he would never intentionally hurt her. It wasn’t logic talking but something in her heart that she couldn’t ignore. She had no powers of reasoning now, just feeling. She shook her head back and forth so hard she feared her neck might snap.

  “Yes, I would have. That’s the truth about me, that’s what I am. I lose myself in women just as I lose myself in other things. I search for things that fascinate me. You are my current fascination.”

  “No, I’ll never believe it. You feel more for me—”

  “I do, Emily. In fact, I have a man’s love for you.”

  Love.

  Her mouth dropped open. She gasped and placed her
hand to her throat. She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but sincerity.

  And pain.

  “Yes,” he said. “Love. The type of love a man gives the woman he wants to marry—”

  “Marry?” The word exploded from her lips before her mind could even make sense of what he’d said. Marriage. The floor seemed rock beneath her feet. Her heart hammered against her chest. A sense of being endangered arose in her. Tingling suffused her from head to foot. A wild sort of fear. The urge to run energised her legs. But she found herself unable to leave, shifting uneasily on her feet. She was compelled to listen further.

  This man, this gorgeous, fascinating, enigmatic man wanted to marry her.

  He wanted to marry her?

  He held up a forestalling hand. “Oh yes, I know your aversion to marriage. Don’t bother—I would never marry you. I couldn’t be that unkind. Because you see, this fascination thing, it is very different from that kind of love, at least for a man.”

  A ball of fire swelled in her throat.

  He did not want to marry her. It didn’t matter. It really didn’t.

  Marriage was the last thing in the world she wanted. Ever.

  “I assure you, I have no wish to marry anyone—not even you.” She had to push the words out past that burning mass in her gullet. Well, it was the truth. Wasn’t it? She never wanted to give a man authority over her. At least not yet. She had too many things to do with her life.

  And he didn’t want to marry, didn’t want to have commit himself to a life of faithfulness to one woman.

  So they were a good pair, weren’t they?

  She flickered her gaze back to his face. Could this man truly bring himself to hurt her? Would it really hurt her if he were to take other women to his bed? She pictured him naked in his bed, his body covering the redheaded barmaid from the Blue Duck. The burning mass threatened to choke her.

  Suddenly, she felt he might be right. She might be over her head here, a naïve little girl playing with a bonfire. She turned away from him and hugged herself.

  “You just want to end things now, just cut them off—how can you do that?” she asked.