An Angel for the Earl by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online Page B

unknown, and the bookmakers couldn’t begin to figure odds long enough.
    No matter. Kerry smiled and put every last shilling on Salvation. And practically cried when the horse was led out of the paddock area and onto the track. Salvation was gray except for a white muzzle, sunken-chested, and stumbling. Why, it would be a miracle if Salvation managed to save himself from the glue pot for another day. He managed to amble to the starting line, facing in the wrong direction, while the other jockeys made jokes. Salvation’s jockey appeared to be foxed, weaving around in the saddle and having trouble staying aboard. The crowd laughed, of course. None of them had any money on a superstitious, hallucinatory whim. Of course.
    The jockey finally managed to get the ancient horse turned around and everyone settled down for the start of the race. No one else but Kerry seemed to notice that the scarlet-clad jockey had an ostrich feather in his cap. His? Kerry wasn’t even surprised when Lucy smiled going around the nearest turn, dropping the reins and her whip—no, her parasol—to wave at him. His only surprise was that the officials didn’t stop the race when she leaned forward to whisper in the horse’s ear and the old nag started to fly toward the finish line. Literally. Oh, God. Kerry prayed for Salvation like no sinner ever had.
    * * *
    Half the money went to Demby for safekeeping as usual, after he paid off the rest of the household bills. With a celebratory bottle of champagne and a new stock of cigarillos, Lord Stanford joyfully prepared to pay his gambling debts.
    â€œFifty pounds to Cholly Spofford…A monkey to Lord Cheyne. Devil a bit, I still think the match should have gone to the Dutchman…Seventy-five for the curricle race I could have won but for that herd of cows…”
    â€œIsn’t it nice to know that now you can give up gaming?”
    â€œGive up—Lucy?” The earl scanned the shadows of his study. There she was on the sofa, her feet tucked up beneath her. He thought for a moment what a charming domestic scene they made, he settling accounts and she at her embroidery. Except, of course, that he was paying gaming debts and she was dressed in a gown that could make a whore blush, and the room smelled of brimstone. And he was a rational, clear-thinking Englishman, and she didn’t really exist.
    â€œI’d kiss you for today’s work, angel,” he told her, “if you were real.”
    Lucinda knotted a thread and bit it off with her teeth. “Why are you so afraid to admit I exist?”
    â€œBecause if you exist, if you are who and what you say you are, I am crazy.” Carrying his glass and the bottle, Kerry took a seat across from her near the fire, where he could drink in her incredible beauty.
    â€œYou’d rather consider yourself insane than headed for hell?”
    He was watching her graceful fingers dart in and out of the fabric, rather than listening to her words. “What’s that you’re working on?”
    â€œAn altar cloth. The devil makes work for idle hands.”
    He laughed. “You? A painted harlot sewing on an altar cloth?”
    â€œWhy not?” she asked with a scowl. “
You
aren’t aiding my cause any. And I do wish you’d get it out of your mind that I am a fallen woman. I mean, fallen from grace is one thing, but fallen off the primrose path is quite another. I strayed only that once, you know. Before that I was strictly trained in all the genteel arts like music and sewing and watercolors. I’ll have you know that before meeting you I’d never been to a horse race or a card party.”
    Staring at shoulders that were almost bare except for two ribbons and a lock of hair, he sneered. “Somehow I cannot feel responsible for corrupting an innocent.”
    â€œI do realize from your, ah, admiration that I do not appear the proper young lady right now. No man has ever looked