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

prostitution. You can see that legitimate employment agencies meet the coaches. You can convince your friends that prostitution is degrading and that celibacy is a virtue. You can—”
    Kerry was stopped in his tracks. “Hold fast, Lucy. I thought I just had to be a better man, not perform miracles!”
    Lucy laughed and took his hand, which was an eerie feeling, but nice once one got used to it. “I have great hopes for you, my lord.”
    * * *
    His watch at Lil’s being over, the burly doorman took himself off to the Three Feathers for a heavy wet.
    â€œBash any heads tonight, ’Arry? Toss any sots in the alley?”
    â€œNah, more’s the pity. Quiet night.”
    â€œAny fancy toffs come by, then?”
    â€œYeah, the Earl Stanford what they was sayin’ had such a run o’ luck this week. Must be true. ’E didn’t even bat an eye when Lil doubled the goin’ rate. Even tossed me a coin just for offerin’ to call a hackney for ’im. Said ’e’d rather walk though.”
    The Three Feathers was shortly an empty nest as every cutpurse and footpad in the neighborhood lit out after the easy mark.
    Kerry was deep in thought when the first assailant struck. He never heard the villain creep up behind him with a club in his hand, and he never turned around when the scoundrel slipped on a patch of ice—the only patch of ice in London that night—and knocked himself to flinders.
    The next attackers worked in a pair. Except that one of them pulled his knife too soon and nicked his mate, who gave him an elbow in the breadbasket, which started a melee that distracted the next set of thugs into betting on the outcome.
    Kerry kept walking, thinking of injustice, poverty, and the fate of unprotected innocents. Chivalry, almost, except that he wanted a woman more than ever. He didn’t notice how a streetlamp somehow got between him and a tossed rock, or how a slavering pit bull decided to claim the block behind him as its own territory.
    He didn’t see the rat as big as a house cat run over Dirty Sal’s foot, causing her to drop her pistol. He did hear her screaming, however. With thoughts of damsels in distress that would have cheered Dirty Sal no end, he turned in time to see two men coming at him with cudgels.
    Lucinda decided to let the earl handle this attack on his own. She’d heard somewhere that men liked to feel important. Still ashamed of her own emotional outburst and shocking display of raw power—a lady never indulged in such disgraceful exhibits—Lucy felt she owed the earl a sop to his pride. Besides, he did need an outlet for some of that masculine energy, for she was going to make him toe the line, come hell or high water. She only hoped the ruffians didn’t damage the earl’s handsome face.
    Kerry fended off the assault without raising a sweat. He did skin the knuckles of his right hand on one lowlife’s chin, and ripped the sleeve of his greatcoat tossing the other into the side of a building, blast it. He’d finally got the curst topcoat paid for. Demby was no good at repairs, and the earl had to thread the needle for him anyway. Maybe he should just take up tailoring, now that he was renouncing gambling. Or perhaps he could become a prizefighter. Heaven knew he’d need some thrills in his life if he was to give up wine, wenching, and wagering. What other excitement was there? So he went home and burned the house down.

Chapter Seven
    He
didn’t mean to start the fire, of course. Kerry just lit his cigarillo and sprawled back in his comfortable chair to contemplate his dreary future. Thinking of ways to circumvent those strictures—he hadn’t precisely given his word to abandon the life of a London gentleman; there had been no chance yet to see if he could win a wager—he remembered the smoke and sparks coming from Lucy. Gads, she was magnificent when she was angry. Of course,