Page 19 of The Lady’s No Angel

The bed had been turned upside down, the linen thrown any which way, and the contents of her bag littered the floor. It was a small room, and easy enough to reveal the fact that whoever had done this was long gone. Mr Cleaver regarded the mess with a frown before looking up and crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

“I would like to pretend that I’m surprised,” he said dryly, one dark eyebrow lifting. “But it’s no more than I expected.”

Angel stared at him, mirroring his posture and putting up her chin. “Well, it may be no surprise to you, but I assure you it is to me!”

To her mortification her voice trembled a little, but the idea of strangers, perhaps someone who wished her harm, poking about in her things was appalling. His expression softened, and he took a step closer.

“No!” Angel put up her hands, forcing him to keep his distance. The temptation to fall into his muscular arms was almost too much to bear. “Don’t be nice to me. I’m… I’m perfectly fine.”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out again slowly.

“Don’t swoon,” he commanded.

Angel returned a scathing look. “I never swoon.” Sighing, she looked at the mess with a frown. “It can’t be unusual for rooms to be robbed while the guests are at dinner. I doubt this is anything other than that.”

“This is a respectable inn,” he reminded her. “They were clearly looking for something specific. For the moment, I shall forebear to ask you what that might be. You’d better check nothing is missing. Did you leave any money in the room?”

“Of course not! I would never do such a stupid thing,” she replied scornfully as she set about checking if anything had been taken. She did not wish to check if her pistol and dagger were still hidden whilst he was watching so closely, however.

He nodded, regarding her thoughtfully. Angel did not like it when he got that look. For all he acted the amiable fool, he was nothing of the sort.

“Heaven preserve us!” Milly yelped, coming in and discovering the scene. She stood with her hand covering her mouth, eyes wide.

“It’s all right, Mrs Pettigrew, whoever did this is long gone,” Mr Cleaver said, his tone reassuring.

Whilst his attention was upon Milly, Angel quickly flung back the rug and checked the loose board. Grasping the bundle that was mercifully still there, she shoved it into her carpetbag and tucked it under her clean chemise and spare stockings.

Relieved that hurdle had been cleared, Angel turned back to Mr Cleaver. She could not deny he was a reassuringly solid presence as he stood regarding their ruined room.

His expression was grave as he met her eyes. “I think it best that you ladies take my room tonight and I’ll sleep here. I’ll get Mr Kimble to deal with it. I’m certain he’ll be all eagerness to smooth ruffled feathers after such an event upon his premises. Why don’t you come back downstairs and have a glass of brandy? It will settle your nerves.”

“There isn’t a thing wrong with my nerves,” Angel told him, aware that was not entirely true. Though she felt certain no one knew what she was doing, she could not entirely squash the niggling uncertainty that someone else knew about Black Jack’s treasure. The stories about her pops were legion, what if someone had learned about the treasure he had hidden and talked about it? She wrapped her arms about herself, suddenly chilled. If that was true, they were in a good deal of trouble. Swallowing, she met Mr Cleaver’s troubled eyes. “Though I-I would welcome a glass of brandy.”

At this rate, it was the only way she would get a moment’s rest.

He nodded, gesturing to the door. Milly had already hurried out, eager to remove herself from the scene.

“Unless,” he said, lowering his voice until it was more of a growl. “You would prefer I sleep in your room. I could curl up at the foot of your bed like a good little guard dog.”

Angel’s breath caught.

The words, naughty as they were, slid under her skin and went directly to all the wicked places her mama would never even name, let alone refer to. Heat bloomed low in her belly as an image immediately conjured itself. Mr Cleaver, his powerful body lounging, not at the end of her bed, but upon it. Naked.

Angel’s mouth was suddenly dry. This was the inconvenient part of pirate blood, she reflected sadly. It was impossible to be entirely good. She had an immoral streak, a desire to be bad, to take the easy road instead of the hard one, to give in to desire instead of fighting it.

“Are you coming, miss?”

Angel jumped, wrenched from her lewd imaginings as Milly’s impatient voice took her attention. Forcing herself to behave as she ought, Angel turned to meet Mr Cleaver’s laughing eyes.

“I thank you for the kind offer, but no. An exchange of rooms will suffice. I’m coming, Milly,” she said, and left the room with all the dignity she could muster.

Chapter 7

A Most Inconvenient Attraction

The Rose and Crown, Tonbridge, Kent, 8th April 1816

Hart passed a sleepless night. Despite having exchanged rooms to soothe the ladies, and despite telling himself such a thing could not happen twice in the same property, his own nerves were jangling. His instincts, always primed for trouble of one sort or another, had sensed Miss Baxter was a kindred spirit the moment he’d clapped eyes on her.