My Angel (8 page)

One dark blond brow rose in skepticism. "Where? You're awfully young." The madam stood then proceeded around the desk, never taking her eyes from Angela's bosom. Angela refused to squirm under Madame leBon's perusal.

The madam's question was to the point, and Angela didn't know what to say. Feigning ignorance with a bit of bravado seemed the best path.

"Aunt Mathilda's boardinghouse," she said. "I worked the main floor. Aunt Mathilda insisted on doing the bedrooms. But Auntie promised that when I turned nineteen, I could help out upstairs, too."

A slow smile formed on Madame leBon's lips. "Really? And which would you like to work?"

Angela didn't hesitate in her reply. "Oh, the bedrooms, of course. I'd really enjoy that. Auntie says it's absolutely delightful."

Now the madam's eyes twinkled with merry laughter. "And have you any experience? I don't want an untried girl ruining the reputation of my establishment." The madam held a lock of Angela's hair in her fingers. "We'll have to do something different with this wild mess,'' she murmured a bit distractedly.

''No, ma' am. Auntie wouldn't' let me near the upstairs rooms. Said I wasn't old enough."

Madame leBon shrugged, "You've said that. Your age isn't what matters here." The madam tapped her perfect chin with a perfectly manicured fingernail and stared at her even harder. Angela felt sure Madame leBon saw right through the fabric of her clothing. "You're a tiny little thing." She paused for several heart-stopping seconds. "Undo your bodice and let me have a look. I'm not going to hire anyone I haven't seen. Men like big breasts, and I'm not hiring a girl who won't fill their hands and their needs."

Angela's heart stopped and her mouth went dry. This wasn't what she'd expected. For a fleeting moment, she almost turned and fled, but thoughts of Emma, helpless and alone somewhere upstairs, overshadowed her fear.

Emma.

Angela looked apprehensively over her shoulder. Zeke had gone. Only the two of them remained in the room. Her fingers trembled as she lifted the first button, but she reminded herself that she'd committed herself and that what she did now might be the difference between life and death--hers and Emma's.

She could not falter.

"Hurry up. I don't have all day." The madam tapped her slippered foot on the Persian carpet. "No experience?" The question was rife with meaning.

Angela pulled her arms from the sleeves, the bodice hanging now around her hips.

"The chemise, too, everything."

Cool air touched her skin. The madam stood and now stepped closer, circling her.

"Put your arms behind your head."

"Why?"

"Don't ask foolish questions. As I said a minute ago, if you don't have big breasts, the gents just don't go for you. But I think yours will do nicely. More than a handful," she murmured, "and the coloring is exquisite."

Madame leBon sat on the edge of her desk, one leg swinging idly. Angela quickly pulled her chemise up and her bodice back on then buttoned it tight.

"We'll have to give you some instruction on the proper manner and decorum. I don't want my guests disappointed in you."

"Then I get the job?" She tried to sound eager, but with each passing second she wasn't sure about the wisdom of this. "When do I start?"

"I'll put you in Lottie's care at night and for the next few days. I want you to wait on Emma, make sure she gets everything she needs. Emma is in the room next to yours. She isn't feeling well and I have to have her ready for the auction Friday night. She's the main attraction. Even if Emma doesn't want to eat, make sure she drinks the water--all of it. After that is seen to, all you need to do is watch what Lottie does and learn everything you can. Ask her anything you want. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to answer."

"Oh, thank you." Angela curtsied, her knees almost buckling-

"In two days there will be an auction. I'll need you ready and able to work. There will be a lot of things to do upstairs, and I'll expect you to do the very best job you can. Lawrence
Stevens will want you first. He tries out all the new girls just to make sure they are ready."

Angela's stomach turned over at that thought. /'//
kill him before I let him touch me.
"I won't disappoint you, Madame leBon. I promise."

"Please call me Velvet. And I'm sure you won't disappoint me. Zeke will show you to your room, and Lottie will come by later with more appropriate clothes."

Angela rubbed her sweaty palms down her dress. "Thank you." She tried for enthusiasm but realized her thank-you sounded more like a plea for help.

Chapter Four

Devil Blackmoor stepped into the dress shop, the fourth place of business he'd visited this Friday morning. A well-groomed, white-haired lady shot him a pleasant made-for-business smile.

"What can I do for you?"

Devil cleared his throat, feeling scrutinized from the tips of his toes to the top of his hat. "I'm looking for a young lady with an angel's smile, about this high." He held his hand at chest level. "Eyes that could tame Satan himself. A waist no bigger than the circumference of my hands." He gestured and grinned at his own words.

The lady gave an inelegant snort of disapproval before turning away. "Your mistress?''

"No." Devil continued his description. "A waist no bigger than my hands." He showed her again. But he was thinking of the way she felt cradled next to his chest, the way her wild, innocent passion had caused a tempest to rage in his soul.

His body tensed, hardening instantly.

"Never seen the young woman." The modiste swept from her seat behind the desk, moving to a table set with patterns and magazines of the latest fashions. Her stiff back turned to him, she sorted and stacked the material there.

"Yellow makes her look as fresh as a spring day."
And ripe for picking.

He thought he saw the lady hesitate a moment, her shoulders and arms tensing as if she knew something she wasn't about to share with the likes of him.

"The lady you speak of hasn't been in my shop." Her voice sounded as prim and proper as a
Boston
tea party.

Liar,
"So you say.'' He tipped his hat in a gentlemanly show of manners while he inwardly seethed.

"I most certainly do," came the terse reply, the woman's features drawing together into a sour pucker. "A gun for hire has no business questioning my integrity. Now unless you have further business here, I suggest you leave immediately."

Devil tipped his hat. His frustration simmering into anger, he let the door bang shut. The air smelled fresher on the other side of the door anyway.

Walking down the street, he listened to the jingle of his spurs as they hit the ground and the wind's soft moan as it swept around the buildings. He passed by
Market Street
and
Holladay Street
, part of the red-light district, without giving the buildings a second glance.

Mrs. Limpkin's berry pie sure smelled good. He could see five pies sitting out on the windowsill of her boardinghouse.

Rusty poked his head out from the door to the livery, a mischievous grin planted squarely on his round face. The boy slipped between the double doors and started toward him with a gangly gait.

"Sir." The feminine voice behind him sounded airy and breathless.

Before he could turn and acknowledge the woman, he felt small fingers close around his wrist in an invitation.

"Sir?" she asked, still breathless and slightly agitated, her chest heaving, despite the short run.

Devil smiled and tipped his hat. One of the girls who worked at the dress shop stood in front of him, her face flushed with the exertion of chasing after him. She inhaled deeply--to catch her breath, he presumed. Her hand was placed just above her heaving bosom.

"Sir..." she repeated.

His fingers rested on the butt of his gun, his stance wide as he stared at her, waiting to hear her out.

"I overheard your conversation with Madame Giselle."

Madame Giselle was as French as he was. Devil waited.

"I... I know it's none of my business, but the lady you described has been to the shop. A man old enough to be her father bought her a yellow dress a couple of weeks ago, and he ordered an entire wardrobe, including..." She paused, still trying to catch her breath.

"Including?" Devil didn't care for the direction of this conversation. He saw delicate under things, and filmy confections that tantalized and beckoned, things he meant to buy for her--as soon as he could find her.

"Unmentionables and beautiful nightclothes," the girl said.

Devil's fists closed around his gun as bile rose in his throat. The implications of what the girl told him hit him hard in the gut.