What would it take to convince the angel to follow him to Europe, where he would assume his duties, or to Constantinople, where his father lived and where he'd grown up? He'd spent the first fifteen years of his life under the influence of the Ottoman Empire. His father had abducted his mother, enslaved her--until his mother had managed to capture his father's heart. Then she had received a promise from Father at her deathbed that their son, if he choose to live in Russia, would go by the Popov name to continue her family's dynasty. If he still lived in the East, Devil would not have to ask to have this angel. She would be his for the taking.
In America he would have to ask.
All he could offer was the promise of adventure and for most ladies that was not enough to lure them away from their home and their family, entice them across the Atlantic to foreign places they might have only read about. Allah, but if she craved adventure, he could give her that and much more. He would give to his wanton angel her heart's desire.
Determined to find her, he headed back to town. The sooner he finished with the job he'd accepted the sooner he could search for this woman who'd touched something deep inside and take her home with him.
But would she go?
As if on cue, Misha appeared on the horizon, his approach cautious and slow.
"Your timing is perfect." Devil lay back, his hands tucked behind his head, eyes closed.
"But of course, Alexi," Misha Petrovich said, using Devil's given name. He gave a chuckle then doffed his hat. "How was your wild ride?"
"Enlightening,'' Devil said, still wondering what enticement he could give the angel of his dreams to convince her to travel with him.
"And did you win the fair lady?"
"Not yet, but I will."
"I'm sure that is the truth. Tell me, Alexi, have you ever been denied anything in your entire life?"
"Ah, Misha, in truth, I cannot think of a single time."
~ * ~
"Hello, Papa."
Hours later, a bedraggled Angela Chamberlain closed the door to her father's office. Sam had rented a suite of rooms at the hotel for their short stay in Denver before resuming their travels and had turned one of the rooms into a private sanctuary where he could work. They would spend some time here then her father would take her to the train she would ride to boarding school.
She brushed the dripping strands of hair from her eyes and tried to smooth the wrinkles from her skirts. Sam sat at his desk, sifting through an array of papers.
He grunted. To Angela, his preoccupation with the notes in front of him was a good sign he might not notice her state of dishabille.
Without looking up or glancing her way, her father said, "Sit down."
The message came through loud and clear: /'// deal with you as soon as I finish what I'm doing. Waiting was torture, and her father knew just how impatient Angela was. He knew she wanted life to happen to her now, not later.
She meant to find a way out of the questions that were sure to start when her father got around to them. "Papa?"
"What?"
He didn't look up. She didn't like the tone of his voice.
"I'm cold and wet. Could we talk later?"
Silence hung in the room. She heard the steady tread of footsteps outside the door, and smelled the leftover of the roast beef her father had had for an earlier meal. The shuffling of papers sent a little shiver of apprehension up then down her spine. The unstoppable ticking of the grandfather clock paralyzed her.
Everyone else controlled her life. Time ruled each precious second, and it was slipping past her right now. She would not let that happen. At eighteen she meant to live rife to the fullest.
"I'm finished." He looked at her, really looked at her. "What happened to you?" Sam pushed back from the desk, his arms crossed stiffly over his chest. He held the position then relaxed everything but his critical gaze.
"A mountain storm." She hesitated to go on. The intense look in her father's eye flashed like nothing she'd seen before.
"Not the first storm you've weathered by yourself. But this one got the best of you."
"It hit fast and hard."
"I thought that between Dakota and Trey you knew where to find shelter."
To the Sioux, Dakota was known as Wildcat-Who-Stalks-The-Night, and Trey as White Eagle. Trey was her half brother, and Dakota acted like kin. While she was growing up they had taught her the ways of the Sioux people. Right now Dakota had disappeared into the Rockies with his wife, Emma, and it seemed that half the bounty hunters and Pinkertons in the west were looking for them, including Emma's brother, Jacob St. John. However, Jacob seemed more interested in clearing Emma's name than finding the pair. He'd even stepped out of retirement from the Pinkertons to help Emma.
"I did find a dry place."
He eyed her, a crooked slant to his lips, his silence unnerving.
"After the storm drenched me to the bone," she added.
The rumbling chuckle that followed surprised her. "And did you leave the dress shop buttoned so haphazardly?" he asked, and for a moment she saw a twinkle in his eye. She didn't know what he spoke of; then a horrid thought assailed her.
Devil. Angela looked at her bodice. What else could she do? She didn't know if she gasped or shrieked at the sight of her buttons, so hastily done by Devil. And undone. Not in that order.
From the tips of her toes she felt the heat climb to the roots of her hair, felt the blush steal across her cheeks and settle on her nose.
"I didn't know," she said, her hands fluttering along the row of pale yellow buttons, unsure of what to do about the predicament.
Her father let out a snort of disgust. "If I wasn't convinced before you needed finishing school, I certainly am now. You're a mess, Angela. A sweet, endearing mess, but no lady would parade around dressed as you are. I love you. Otherwise I wouldn't care, and I'd let you run around the mountains your entire life wearing nothing save your buckskins and a shotgun propped on your shoulder. I want more for you, and so does your mother. Always remember that."
She closed her eyes in a heartfelt prayer to the spirits above that her father had dismissed her appearance as nothing more than her untamed wildness.
"Yes, Papa," she said, her eyes lowered in an unusual show of compliance. She respected him and loved him dearly, even though she didn't agree with him.
Sam Chamberlain did want more for his daughter, and he was as immovable as the mountains themselves. Nothing short of a catastrophic event would change his mind.
"Papa, have you heard from Jacob? He's been gone too long. He should have found something out by now. I'm worried."
"Emma has Dakota to look after her," Sam said.
"I know, but Mama has been so worried. What are we going to do? They can't hide forever."
"Trust Jacob. He's the best Pinkerton around, and he'll discover the truth."
"I saw Emma's picture on a wanted poster."
Sam leaned forward and eyed Angela critically. "And I heard you followed Devil Blackmoor out of town." Sam's tone changed from firm command to hard control. "Any truth to the rumor?"
At his question, her heart stopped, froze mid-beat, and all thoughts of Emma and Dakota flew from her mind. She'd entertained thoughts of riding after Devil. Did that make her guilty? "No, Papa," she said. "I didn't follow him."
"Then you didn't meet him on a little-used trail?" Sam's finger tapped the mahogany desktop. He had loving hands, comforting hands--hands that could kill if provoked.
"Well..." She hesitated, her fingers wound together and clasped tightly in front of her. Only her father could make her cower in fright. Terror oozed through her bones.
"Angela?" His voice nearly roared in the unnatural silence surrounding them.
She couldn't lie. "I... we had an encounter."
"I don't like the way that sounds. An encounter?"
"Yes, Papa. He thought I needed rescuing." She didn't. Dakota and Trey had shown her how to ride and shoot a bow and arrow at the same time. She rod
e better than most men.
Sam sat back in his chair, his arms folded negligently across his chest and his expression grim. "You?'' One eyebrow rose in mock disdain. "You're the most unlikely candidate for rescuing I've ever known."
"I know that. He didn't." She nodded, feeling a slim thread of hope grow in her heart. She could defend herself, could trap and could follow a trail. She knew how to survive in the high country, hunting her own game and foraging for food.' 'There is a measure of truth in the story. One of those horseless carriages spooked Kangee and he took off. Since we were on the outskirts of town, I let him run. The next thing I knew, Devil scooped me off my horse and rescued me."
Sam sat forward, his forearms resting on the desk. "And then what?"
She jerked, surprised that he might have guessed about the kiss. Angela sucked in her lower lip, remembering how Devil's mouth had crushed down on hers, recalling the spine-tingling sensations that had rolled through her, languidly at first then with the speed of stampeding horses. "Nothing, really." She wasn't going to tell her father the man kissed her. He'd go after Devil with only one thought in mind: torture. If she told Sam how willing she'd been, there'd be a shotgun wedding by noon tomorrow. She didn't want that either.
"You're not going to tell me."
Angela shook her head; then changing her mind, she nodded. "I hit him."
Sam leaned back again, his eyes lingering on his daughter. Once again Angela waited for someone else to decide her fate. "And then what?"
"He let me go."
Sam drummed his fingers on his desk, a thoughtful expression written clearly in the lines of his face. "Really..." His gaze raked over her. "You're not telling me everything."
"Papa," she began only to find herself interrupted.
"We can talk again later." With a wave of his hand and a low chuckle, he said,' 'Go on now. Clean yourself up properly."
Chapter Three
Two weeks later, long after Angela had given up hope of convincing her father not to send her East, Devil Blaekmoor reappeared in Denver. Standing at the window of the hotel room she and her father shared, Angela watched Devil escort a woman through town then turn down the infamous Holladay Street into the red-light district.
"Emma?" she wondered out loud.
Angela stretched forward, pushing her nose out the half-open window and leaning precariously over the edge of the sill. She had prayed every day that no one would find Emma and Dakota. But now it seemed her prayers had gone unanswered.
"Emma .
Trey was Angela's half-brother and Dakota was Trey's blood brother. When Dakota's parents died on their way west, Dakota was adopted by a Sioux war chief. Trey and Dakota had grown up together with their Sioux families, had fought at the Battle of Little Big Horn against General Custer and the Seventh Cavalry. While Trey was part Indian by birth, Dakota wasn't. Dakota's skin was stark white but his soul was pure Sioux warrior, and he didn't have a drop of Indian blood in him.
Angela had been with Jacob when the telegram had arrived. The Pinkertons had wanted Jacob to find his sister and bring her in. Jacob had been torn between rushing to his sister's rescue or joining the Pinkertons to find the real murderer. And Jacob knew if Dakota disappeared into the Rockies, no one would find him until he was ready. So Jacob had set about to find the real criminal.
Now Devil Blackmoor had brought in Dakota's woman for money. Emma's face had been on wanted posters all over Denver and the state of Colorado. Angela pulled herself inside the room, determined to do something to help Emma.
Nervously, Angela tapped her fingers against the window-pane. Her forehead rested against the cold glass, and she inhaled a ragged breath.
"Think." Think.
In a blind panic and knowing Devil and Emma would disappear from sight any second, Angela whirled from her perch at the window. She raced through the room, grappling with the doorknob in her haste to reach the street before they turned a corner. Her skirts tangled around her feet and legs, she stumbled awkwardly through the long hallway and down the stairs to the lobby of the hotel.
"Oof." The impact jarred her all the way to her toes. "I'm sorry... I..." Angela bent to retrieve the packages that had flown from the man's arms when she ran into him.
"You should be," the man told her, his tone indignant.
"I'm so sorry." Her voice was soft--strained. "Here." She handed him the last package and dashed out the door. "I'm sorry." But she almost smashed into a lady.
"Where I come from young women are polite." The man's harsh words followed her. "They watch where they are going."
She ran, her skirts held high.
The buildings blurred into one.
In the middle of the street she stopped, searching for some sign of Devil and Emma. A few seconds later she headed into the red-light district. More than anything Angela wanted to help Emma prove her innocence. More than anything she wanted to see Dakota happy.
Her sweaty hands clutched the fabric of her skirt. Angela turned slowly, searching out every dark nook, every door left open. She saw no one she recognized. Not Devil. Not Emma. In the few seconds it had taken her to race from the hotel, they had disappeared.
"Where did you go, Devil Blackmoor, and what did you do with Emma Barringer. If you've hurt her in anyway, I'll skin you alive."
Angela had been trained by the most skilled warriors in the Dakotas. She should be able to find two people. She had to--for Dakota and Jacob. They shared a common bond of love and friendship.
What affected one, affected them both. Loyalty to each other ran strong and deep.
Now Devil had brought in Dakota's woman. Devil was a gun for hire. In the weeks that had passed, Angela had found out all she could about Devil Blackmoor. Nothing she'd heard except his profession could be accepted as fact. What she'd heard had to be rumor, the tales too fantastic to believe. Yet...
He was a Russian prince. My foot.
He was the son of a Turkish sultan and owned an exotic harem of over one hundred women at his beck and call. Even less believable.
She'd heard that Lawrence Stevens, Emma's stepfather, was paying Devil twenty thousand dollars to bring Emma back to Denver. Emma was part of her family now, and in Angela's eyes, family was everything.
That allegiance made Devil Blackmoor her enemy.
Dakota wouldn't let Emma go without a fight. She was suddenly very worried about Dakota.
"Angela!"
Her heart skipped a beat. She'd recognize that voice anywhere. "No," she said. "Not now."
Her father's fingers wound around her arm, effectively stopping her blind rush into the nearest saloon.
"What are you up to?" he asked.
"Nothing, Papa."
That earned her a sour look, but she didn't dare tell her father she'd been about to step through the swinging doors in front of her into the Gold Nugget Saloon.
"Emma..." The impact of what had just occurred hit hard.
"Angela?" Sam asked, seemingly confused.
Angela turned to him. "Papa!" She sounded frantic. She was.
"What are you doing here?" Sam stood beside her, waiting for an answer to his earlier question.
My Angel Page 3
