Wicked Angel (Blackthorne Trilogy) (2 page)

      
She rubbed her sore neck and looked up at him. "A civil thank-you for saving your life might be more appropriate, Mr. Blackthorne," she replied crossly.
Beautiful as sin and twice as arrogant.
Then realizing that he had risked his own safety twice to save her and her father, Joss sighed. "I do apologize, Mr. Blackthorne."

      
Feisty little thing. Well, really not so little. She was nearer his height than any other female of his acquaintance, even the tall women of his father's people. But he was a man who preferred feminine voluptuousness, not waif thinness. Still, he could not help admiring her grit. "You have great courage for an Englishwoman."

      
The backhanded compliment was accompanied by another of those devastating smiles. She could not help but return it.
      
"And you have great charm for a colonial." His laughter was a rich, deep rumble that did peculiar things to her stomach.

They stared at each other for a moment, both bemused by their unfamiliar feelings for a member of the opposite sex. Alex liked her wit as well as her spirit. This was a woman who might, unlikely as it seemed, be a friend. In a man who was used to seeing females as either revered family members or sexual dalliances, it was a remarkable new notion.

      
Joss, however, had never viewed the male of the species as more than an arrogant annoyance, pompous, condescending and really quite dull. The only exceptions were her beloved father and Mr. Wilberforce, M.P. Yet the longer she looked into Alex Blackthorne's deep, dark eyes, the more she drowned in them. And the more she was smitten.

      
The reverend chose that moment to conclude his communication with the Deity. He arose on shaky, arthritic knees. Brushing the filth of the alley from his clothes, he peered across the gloom to where his only child stood facing the big fellow who had been sent to answer his prayers.

      
"We owe you our lives, sir. Pray accept my sincerest thanks for your timely intervention." As Alex took his proffered hand, Joss made introductions. "So, you're a colonial, then."

      
"I suspect he would prefer to be called American, Papa," Joss interjected with a grin directed at Alex.

      
"Er, quite so, quite so. What brings you to England—besides the divine providence that led you to rescue us from harm?"

      
Alex shrugged. "I'm here to learn this end of my father's shipping business and to acquire a bit of polish from my mother's family—if any will rub off, that is," he added with a grin.

      
"I recollect I've heard of a mercantile firm of Blackthorne and Therlow, but who are your English family?" Joss inquired with more than passing interest.

      
"The Carutherses."

      
"Ah, Rushcroft, yes," the reverend said. "I seem to recall something about the baron ..."

      
Remembering the stories of scandal that had rocked London back in the 1780s, Joss inteijected, "That was the
late
baron, not the
present
baron."

      
"Speaking of whom, we were to meet upon my debarkation. I should see if he's about before he sets the watch out in search of me. I'd hate to be caught with those two charming fellows. I might be asked some very embarrassing questions."

      
"But the one is still alive—injured. Christian charity demands I minister to him," the old cleric said.

      
"He's only been knocked unconscious. With any luck at all the authorities will conclude he did in his companion and haul him off to Newgate."

      
"Mr. Blackthorne is quite right. Papa," Joss chimed in, taking his arm. "We really should get out of here while it's safe to do so."

      
As Alex ushered the reverend and his daughter from the alley, he asked, "Any idea why that crew of wharf rats stirred up a riot, then tried to murder you, Reverend Woodbridge?"

      
The old man nodded gravely. "I fear so."

      
"Papa has been preaching in support of my work."

      
"Your work?" One thick golden eyebrow arched.

      
If his eyes had not twinkled with amusement at her stiffening demeanor, Joss would have dismissed him as another condescending, stupid male, but how could she when he smiled that way? "My mission is among the city's poor and oppressed. I've organized a society to rescue climbing boys and a shelter for abused wives and reformed prostitutes."

      
Alex stroked his jaw, considering the dichotomy between this prim starchy crusader and the fearless hoyden who had launched herself at two dangerous underworld denizens. One moment she was witty and warm, the next leading sinners from the hell of London's slums. A most formidable female indeed!

      
Drat, she'd done it now. Joss could tell he was quite as put off by her work as all the other men of her acquaintance. Frantically she searched for some way to make him understand. "Life for the lower classes in a city of this size—"

      
"I say, lad, you are the very image of your father. I could scarce overlook such a tall blond lout, even in this press," a lazy drawling voice interjected as the trio emerged from the alley. "Or should I say, tall blond Indian, eh?" he added, eyeing the still bloody knife Alex held in his left hand.

      
Alex returned the regard of the whipcord lean Englishman in front of him. He was an aristocrat to his very fingertips, from his graying light brown hair cut in the Brutus mode to the sharply sculpted features and piercing pale blue eyes—eyes the exact same hue as Alex's own mother's. "Uncle Monty, I presume?" he inquired coolly.

      
Montgomery Caruthers's elegantly-shaped mouth sketched the barest hint of a smile. "You may address me as Baron Rushcroft... or milord," he said, even though barons were not customarily called by their titles. His sister Barbara’s young savage would not know the distinction. Duplicating Alex's mannerism, he raised one eyebrow. "Might I inquire the reason for this barbaric display of cutlery?" he asked casually.

      
"Back in that alley I left one man insensate, a second one quite dead," his nephew replied with relish.

      
The baron pursed his lips consideringly. "On Albion's soil scarce an hour and already seeking scalps. My, my, I'm certain your sire must be quite delighted with you."

      
"As a matter of fact, just the contrary. My backwoods escapades led my father to consign me to the bosom of the

Caruthers family ... for civilizing," Alex replied with his own thinly veiled sarcasm.

      
"Then I shall have my work cut out for me, shan't I?" Caruthers purred. "Please display what modicum of manners my sister was able to drum into you and introduce me to your companions."

      
"Milord," Alex said with a sardonic flash, "may I present the Reverend Elijah Woodbridge and his daughter Miss Jo- celyn Woodbridge."

      
Joss made her curtsy as her father bowed stiffly.

      
"Woodbridge—you must be Suthington's brother, the nonconformist cleric," Monty replied, eyeing the reverend's tattered collar.

      
"I am Methodist, milord, much to my brother the earl's displeasure."

      
"Er, yes, regrettable, most regrettable, that," Monty replied.

      
Joss was uncertain whether the baron regretted the rift in the Woodbridge family or her father's conversion to Methodism. "We really must get along home, Papa," she said stiffly. "Aunt Regina will fret if she hears of this before we're safely returned." The old woman always heard the latest gossip faster than an East End cutpurse could vanish in the warrens of Whitechapel.

      
"This rabble-rousing hedge preacher ain't goin' nowhere," a fat, pockmarked watchman said, seizing the Reverend Woodbridge's arm with one sausage-fingered hand.

      
"What's the charge?" Alex inquired, blocking the charley's view of the bodies in the alley while quickly hiding his knife from sight.

      
"Eh, hoo er you?"

      
"Mr. Blackthorne, this is Harry Wrexham. I once made the grave mistake of confusing a member of the watch with a gentleman," Joss said in dulcet tones.

      
Ignoring her, Wrexham replied to Alex, " 'E's charged wi' startin' this 'ere riot, that's whot. Now come along,

revie," he said, yanking on the cleric's arm once more.

      
'That's absurd! My father was set upon by Jem Barker and his pack of ruffians, who deliberately stirred up the criminal elements," Joss replied hotly. "Just ask anyone respectable who witnessed the event."

      
"No one respectable would be 'ere, mixin' in where they don't belong," the charley replied.

      
"I think I shall take umbrage at that remark on behalf of my nephew and myself," Caruthers inteijected, raising his quizzing glass to peer at the watchman haughtily.

      
Wrexham recognized at once that the man who now stepped forward was Quality. Bowing obsequiously, he stammered, "I'm that sorry, milord, I am. Didn't mean nothin' by it, I didn't."

      
'Then you would not doubt that the Reverend Woodbridge had nothing to do with inciting the riot."

      
"Well, Miss Woodbridge is a bit of a rabble-rouser, beg- gin' yer pardon, milord."

      
"You doubt the word of a lady?" Monty's voice changed from chilly to icy.

      
"Wall, no ... but. .."

      
"Certainly you do not doubt my word then, since I witnessed what the lady reported?" Monty's voice was a silky purr now.

      
"Blimy, no, milord! If 'is lordship vouches for th' reverend and 'is daughter, ole Wrexham, 'e ain't goin' to argue. 'Ave a fine day, yer worship, a fine day indeed," he repeated, bowing. He released his hold on the preacher and scuttled off.

      
Joss placed her gloved fingers to her lips to suppress a peal of mirth. Perhaps Mr. Blackthorne's arrogant uncle was not so insufferable after all. "I've never seen that fat old poltroon so intimidated. We're greatly in your debt, milord."

      
Odd, she was almost pretty when she smiled that way, Alex thought, viewing Joss's face in profile. And his uncle had indeed saved the day. Perhaps his banishment to England had some real possibilities after all. He waited as the social amenities of farewells were exchanged between Caruthers and the Woodbridges, then reached out and took Joss's hand, raising it to his lips for a salute. "Until we meet again, Miss Woodbridge."

      
"Oh!" she gasped in dismay as she saw the sooty smear staining her white glove, acquired no doubt when she was mucking about on the ground for her lost glasses.

      
Alex kissed her hand politely, ignoring the gray smudge on the glove. And the even larger one across her mouth.

Chapter Two

      
"Why on earth anyone should pine away in despair if denied a voucher to this place utterly eludes me," Alex said sotto voce to his uncle as the two men stood near the refreshment table at Almacks.

      
"You, ungrateful young cur, have no idea what exaggerations and outright prevarications my wife had to invent to secure you a guest's ticket," Monty replied with a grim chuckle. "The patronesses were won over by the fact that you're part red Indian. I suspect they hope you'll stir up some excitement by scalping someone tonight."

      
Alex's laugh held a hint of genuine amusement. "You only told Lady Jersey of my 'savage' ancestry hoping to get yourself blackballed."

      
"I should be so fortunate! I fear it quite turned about on me and thus here we are." He sighed as Octavia Caruthers shot him a fulminating glance from across the room. Tiny and birdlike, with unnaturally black hair for a lady at the twilight of her forties, the baroness's apparent fragility was belied by her fierce dark eyes and a mouth pursed so tightly it looked incapable of permitting speech, far less a smile.

      
"She's bringing Lady Harrington with her. Lud, I bloody hate this."

      
Having been ensconced at the Caruthers's city house for a scant two days, during which he had scarcely seen either his uncle or aunt, Alex was still uncertain about the peculiar chill in their marriage. His parents, indeed his whole family in America, seemed quite happy with their spouses. In spite of that, he felt not the slightest inclination to give up his freedom for wedded bliss in the foreseeable future, still less could he fathom why a man would become leg-shackled to a woman he detested.
 

      
"Why did you agree to come here tonight? I assure you, I'd happily forgo stale cakes and buttered bread with warm lemonade," he said with a grimace, looking at the food table.

      
"I am in attendance here so that your beloved aunt will give me peace, you young lout." At Alex's look of frank disbelief he muttered an addendum. "And so that she will pay my gaming debts and the tailor's bill. Don't look so bloody shocked. Surely you didn't think I married that frigid little bitch for true love."

      
Masking his colonially gauche shock, Alex asked, "Once she married you, didn't you receive control of her fortune?"

      
"Would that I had. But her father, damned hag-ridden bastard, saw to it that the bulk of her estate has been tied up in trust. Of course I ran through her marriage portion within the first decade of our connubial bliss. Ever since then I've been begging at her door. He must die, and my darling Octavia as well, if I'm ever to have a sou to call my own. I have resolved to outlive them both, even if it kills me," he drawled through gritted teeth as his wife approached them and made introductions.