My Angel (57 page)

She would not be the one to tell Alexi.

If Alexi knew, he would never let Angela go.

Never.

He would search the earth for her and his child.

~ * ~

Jabbar was tireless. Alexi road hard and fast. Exhaustion would not claim him, nor did he receive solace from the grueling pace he set each day. Day after day he rode farther into the mountains, higher and higher until he could barely breathe the thinning air.

Summer rapidly turned into autumn, yet here in this land surrounded by the
Black Sea
, one could scarce tell. Sweat trickled down his back and between his shoulder blades.

Alexi felt the subtle changes in the air.

His life spun chaotically.

He wanted nothing more than to rid himself of Angela's image. He could not. She had become an integral part of him, and he didn't know how he would survive without her.

He could not sleep. When he closed his eyes he saw the wheat color of her hair, the sky blue of her eyes. He could feel the soft brush of her lips against his own, hear the throaty sounds she made deep in her throat when he pleasured her.

He could not eat. He prayed that if he pushed himself hard enough and long enough, he'd find respite.

That was days ago.

Now he knew there was no relief, understood nothing would ease the emptiness deep inside.

He had become a hollow shell of a man.

And still he rode. Jabbar's sides heaved with exhaustion, yet the stallion moved to his master's will, his loyalty beyond compare.

Deep in the mountains, he found little solace. Nothing he could think of would make his life easier. Proposing marriage would have solved one problem, but in the process would have created more.

She was right in leaving him. He could never give her what her heart desired, what she deserved.

Selfishness had pushed him to demand so much from her, and she'd given even more. He was a fool.

His gaze shifted to the ocean, toward the west. Without slowing his mount, he jumped from Jabbar's back. The horse slowed then stopped.

Alexi held his hand high, a gesture of farewell and resignation. He was well and truly alone. The light and the heart of his life had left on a morning tide, never to return.

Only yesterday he believed he could not hurt any more. He did.

The
Mystic
should have sailed days ago, should be slipping through the Sea of Marmara on its way to the
Mediterranean
. The sea would be a wondrous sky blue, nearly the color of her eyes. Dolphins would follow the ship, playing alongside, singing to and chatting with the sailors--and Angela.

Angela's laugh would float with the wind. He remembered all too well the light in her eyes when she had seen her first dolphins, the way she clapped her hands together in childish glee.

Allah, if he could stand to go home, he would. He would work his fingers to the bone if there was a chance in hell he could ease the pain.

Standing on the top of the mountain he could see for miles around him. The cliffs were rugged, yet not as formidable as the
Rockies
. The rivers were crystal clear, yet they were not as clean and fresh as the
Colorado River
. The sky was a polished blue that sometimes melded with the Black Sea, but it was not as beautiful as the sky over
Denver
.

He had become a hollow shell of a man.

This land of his, he no longer considered home. This land where he inherited a title was not his to rule. The title meant nothing to him. Others could command in his place. Stephan could have it all. Once she thought about Stephan inheriting the title as well as the land, Natasha would not mind. Stephan was as much a grandson to Natasha as he was. Perhaps more so because Stephan belonged in
Russia
, and was willing to fight for his country and its people.

Stephan would understand, would make an admirable leader.

He felt the wind blowing off the sea. Closing his eyes, he absorbed the sounds and smells of this country. He let his thoughts sweep throughout him until they took hold. Suddenly, on the winds of time, he let out a wild cry. It freed his heart and his soul.

Alexi Popov, alias Devil Blackmoor understood what he must do. For several more hours he stared out over this land that had once claimed him. Memorizing all he could see, he stored the sights away so he could someday tell his grandchildren of its beauty. He recalled the folktales his grandmother had told him and committed them to his memory.

He sat down cross-legged on the mountain grass and asked Allah for guidance and the patience needed to fulfill his dreams and conquer his fears.

When he finished, he mounted his horse and rode back to the estate. A serenity he'd never felt before gave credence to his actions. What he had in mind would take a few months to achieve, possibly more, but with patience and diligent work he would convince Stephan to take over for him, and he would teach Stephan how to keep the books, and run the vast estate. Then he'd return to
America
. And he would find his angel. Pray to Allah she would still be waiting for him.

~ * ~

Beneath a sky of hammered gold, the
Mystic
skimmed past the minarets of
Constantinople
. Through clouded, vacant eyes Angela watched the sun go down like a blinding ball of white light, dolphins jumping playfully out of the water. Yet she could not smile. The world seemed unreal, almost unnatural.

Had it really been less than three months since she'd left
New York
?

While she stood at the bow, looking forward, the ship sailed through the Sea of Marmara then into the
Mediterranean
away from Alexi. One hour passed into the next. Glittering stars filled the midnight sky, and a full moon slanted a shimmering swath of light on the water. She didn't know how long she stayed at the bow of the ship.

She didn't care.

A burnished sun rose in the east, sending much-needed warmth across Angela's back. The chill within did not ease. Tears that burned deep inside were not shed.

"Angela," Sam whispered. "You've got to come below."

She'd lost count of the times her father had come to her, asking her to sleep or to eat. She didn't have the heart for either.

His fingers settled on her shoulders, his intentions well meant. If only his strength could flow from him into her. She longed for the power to feel again.

"I can't," she said on a whispered sigh, her voice barely perceptible. She felt her father stiffen, felt the change in his deep, even breathing.

"Then drink this." Sam handed her a steaming cup of coffee loaded with cream and sugar.

For the first time since she'd boarded the clipper once again, she turned from her view of her future. She accepted the drink and sipped gingerly. She didn't want to hurt him.

"Drink it all," he said.

She nodded. "Thank you."

Nothing more was said between them. It seemed her father meant to stay with her, bringing her self-imposed isolation to an abrupt end. He leaned on the railing of the ship, silent, never taking his eyes from the waters in front of him.

She would not fight him, she determined. If she did, he would dig his heels in and she would never find another moment's peace. Already she sensed his frustration, his sadness.

Truly he had her best interests at heart. But she'd left her heart in a foreign land, in the hands of a man they'd labeled Devil Blackmoor out west.

Weariness washed through her, her eyes closing despite her commands to herself to stay awake. She felt her knees give way as strong arms encircled her and lifted her. Giving in to memories of her childhood, she let her father carry her to her room without protest.

The coverlet he pulled over her was warm and soft. He kissed her forehead. Then he pulled the curtain closed on the window, on the light and on the past. That was good. The brightness of day served only to remind her of all she'd lost in the name of survival.

"Good night, Angela," he whispered. "I'm sorry, but you wouldn't listen to reason."

I'm sorry ... you wouldn't listen to reason.
For a long time those words whirled around in her head.

Finally there was only a black emptiness. And for the first time in her life, Angela didn't care if she ever woke up.

~ * ~

When she did wake, her father was in the room. He was eating. His plate was piled high with sausages, eggs, potatoes and bread.

A new sense of reality lightened her heart. The sight and the smell of the sausages and the fresh-baked bread made her mouth water and her stomach rumble hungrily.

Her dreams had been filled with a little boy, a child who looked just as Alexi must have looked. He had dark brown eyes that twinkled with mischief, a lopsided smile that melted her heart, and a tenderness about him that made her wonder at her selfishness.