“No!” Charlotte protested. Who knew where this fallen angel and his demon followers might take her or what he might do to her and Addy? Apparently unaffected by her struggles, the angel pushed her forward. “Stop! Unhand me, sir.” She managed to wriggle one hand free and grabbed the desk, holding on until the angel wrested her away. She retaliated by biting his hand.
He jumped back, shaking his hand incredulously. “Ow! Little hellion bit me!”
But he’d released her, and she made for the divan, scrambling toward the door in a desperate bid to free herself. The angel caught her ankle and dragged her back, ruching her skirt to her knees. “Stop fighting.”
She ignored him and fought harder. And then she felt him run a finger over the back of one knee, and she froze. “Stop fighting. There are worse things than leaving with us. Cease or I might begin to wonder if you’re this much of a hellcat in bed.” His breath tickled her neck, and the effect was complete paralysis. The angel took advantage of the truce and heaved her through the window, into Middleton’s waiting arms.
And then, while Charlotte stood on the other side of the window, she saw the angel inside bow to Addy, and she could swear that the man who’d threatened her with violence a moment before said to Addy in a most charming voice, “After you, madam.”
Addy looked confused but she obeyed, and soon the whole party was dashing toward the wharf a few yards away. There was a trim yacht tied there, and before Charlotte could even think of escape, much less plan one, she was belowdecks, thrust onto a berth, and the angel was standing above her with a length of rope.
“I didn’t want to have to do this, but I can’t be seen about Town with teeth marks on my person. Not a’tall fashionable.” He made a move to take her arms and she glared, at which point his face turned hard and his voice harder. “I can see I shall have to be blunt with you. Bite me again, little hellion, and I’ll pull out your teeth.”
Charlotte blinked, but she didn’t struggle this time when he took her arms and then proceeded to bind her wrists behind her back.
“If you attempt another escape, I’ll be forced to bind your feet as well.”
Charlotte took a shaky breath, pushing herself deeper into the berth and as far away from the devil’s angel as possible. Tears of exhaustion and fear threatened to spill forth, and she concentrated on keeping them at bay. With her hands tied, she felt vulnerable and defenseless, and she wished she could shrink until she was invisible.
But who were these men anyway, and what had they wanted with Cade? Why had Cade run and left her and Addy to fend for themselves? The angel was binding Addy now, but he was being far more civil to her servant. “You must forgive me for this,” he was saying. And then he asked, “Are those too tight?”
Charlotte scowled. He hadn’t asked her if her bindings were too tight. Insolent Brit. She wanted to kick him, tear his eyes out. As though he could read her mind, the angel turned from Addy and fixed jade green eyes on her. And for the first time, Charlotte saw him clearly.
George Washington, he was no mere angel. Archangel was a more apt description of this man with golden locks. Perhaps fallen angel might do, as his hair was in disarray and long enough that it curled about his neck. But his nose was straight and patrician, cheekbones high and pronounced, eyes accented by slashing brows, a shade darker than his hair color. His eyes on her were intent, his mouth tight. “What is your name?” he asked. The low tenor of his voice was marred by the clipped British accent she so hated.
She sat straighter. Showing her fear was the surest way to defeat. Men, whether creditors in Charleston or thieves in London, were the same. They thrived on fear and intimidation. And this man was the sort she hated most. At first she’d thought him a fool—a macaroni, as her fellow Charlestonians would say—but now she understood that was only a façade. This man was a warrior, and he would view compassion and emotion as little more than weakness and surrender.
“I said, what is your name.” It was no longer a question.
Charlotte made a fist under the table, digging her nails into her palm to fortify her resolve not to relent.
“Is that any way to treat this heavenly creature—this sun?” Middleton elbowed the angel out of his way. “ ‘Arise fair sun. It is my lady. O, it is my love!’ ” Middleton knelt before her. “What is thy name, fair maid?”
Charlotte exchanged a look with Addy. Addy’s expression said it was clear the man was madder than a loon. Charlotte looked back, and Middleton was watching her expectantly. She hadn’t wanted to give her name, but it was difficult to feel threatened by this Sebastian Middleton. He was no warrior. And she supposed that, given the choice, she’d rather deal with him than the fallen angel.
“Charlotte Burton.”
“Where are you from, Miss Burton?” the archangel asked, stepping in once again where he’d not been invited. “You don’t sound English.” Charlotte twisted her bound hands. Should she tell the truth? Lie? Too late, she regretted giving anything away.
The angel bent closer, pushing Middleton aside, and notched her chin up with one long, aristocratic finger. Charlotte’s pulse quickened with fear, and she looked past him at the cabin door. But even if she’d been willing to desert Addy, there were two men between it and her; not to mention, her wrists were still bound. Oh, how she wished she had even the meager freedom to put a hand between the fallen angel and herself.
“Miss Burton. I don’t think you realize the gravity of your situation,” the archangel said, his breath warm on her cheek. “I heard what Pettigru said to you before he ran through that shattered window. Now I want to know who you are, what you mean to Pettigru, and what you know about his activities in London and Paris. Either talk or I will be forced—much to my regret, but I assure you I will do it—to employ stronger methods of persuasion.”
Charlotte stared at him. She believed him. His warrior ’s eyes were hard as emeralds. He looked . . . ruthless. She took a shaky breath. What information did she have that these men could use against her? Against Cade? Whatever he had done, she had to protect him. Addy, too.
“Very well,” she said with a last gulp of breath. “Do what you will to me, but you mustn’t hurt my maid.”
Middleton laughed. “We couldn’t if we tried. That woman is strong as an ox.”
The archangel’s gaze did not waver from Charlotte’s. “You have my word that no harm will come to your”—he paused—“servant. Now who are you, and what is your relationship with Mr. Pettigru?”
Charlotte shook her head. “I’m no one. Cade and I are old friends from Charleston. I came to . . . visit.”
“Where is this Charles Town? In the colonies?”
Charlotte felt her fear subside and the heat rise to her face. “Colonies? It is in the state of South Carolina, sir. State. We are no longer your colonies.” The archangel looked unrepentant, despite her chastisement. “Furthermore, the name is not Charles Town.” She made an effort to pronounce it in the harsh, clipped way he did. “It’s Charleston.”
“And this woman is your slave?”
