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LENGTH: Mid Novel
SENSUALITY: Sensual

Cover art (c) Eliza Black 2006
ISBN 1-58608-864-5
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Determined to change her fate--marriage to an undesirable male or life in a convent--Aggie propositions the only man who could prove to be her liberator, or her downfall, for Colt has pledged vengeance against Lord Wentworth for dishonoring his late wife and means to have it through Wentworth's daughter, the Lady Agatha.

Rating: Contains sexual content, adult language, and mild violence.

TRUSTING A DARK STRANGER

By

Kelly Renea

© copyright March 2006, Kelly Renea
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright March 2006
ISBN 1-58608-864-5
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter 1

London, Summer of 1890

The thirst for adventure is the vent which Destiny offers; a war, a crusade, a gold mine, a new country, speak to the imagination and offer swing and play to the confined powers.

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

Billows tuned out the whispering of nosy neighbors who sucked all the air from the overheated bedroom. Steeling himself for the smell and sight Billows knew would greet him, he lifted the thin sheet that covered the emaciated form on the canopied bed.

Could this be the elusive Elizabeth?

"You're the high and mighty Scotland Yard expert." Colt's deep, flat voice penetrated, impatient to conclude the task. The whispering ceased as the crowd stared slack-jawed at the American's audacity to insult a London police inspector. "Have you finally found her after a year of taking my money in a useless search?"

Billows wished to begin his day of work with another case, any other case.

Colt, a tall man in his prime, wore a black hat that cast a shadow over his entire face. Between his teeth was clamped a cigar, and a Smith-Wesson pistol hugged his thigh.

Billows snorted, realizing it would be a cold day in hell before Colt would be intimidated by anyone, much less one of London's finest.

The room became deathly quiet as the crowd waited for the arrogant American to speak. Colt stared at the body for several seconds before nodding his head. At that signal, Billows motioned for his blushing assistant to pull the sheet lower to reveal the rest of the woman's body.

A filmy negligee made of black and red lace left the woman's nether regions exposed in a wicked fashion. The high quality and risqué cut of the material screamed of the naughty but expensive designers in France. Lacy, black stockings and garters completed her ensemble.

Billows' assistant, Rogers, a greenhorn working his first case, wiped his damp brow and unhooked the garters. He slipped one of the stockings down, revealing underneath it a creamy-white thigh decorated with a strawberry birthmark in the shape of a heart.

Colt's face hardened to granite the moment his gaze locked on the birthmark. With one curt nod, he left the room, the door slamming in his wake.

"Who was he?" The elderly Lady Greenly moved forward, eyes dancing.

"I bet he is her newest ... well, one doesn't speak of such things." The dour-faced, thin-lipped Lady Kensington sniffed, while suppressing a shudder.

"I'll bet he's her lover. How dangerously romantic!" Miss Lisa O'Reilly, a silly, young girl, covered her lips with her fingertips as a blush stole across her face.

"I have seen the gentleman who visits her, and that was not him." The mature Widow Davies stated, fixing the crowd with a knowing look.

The crowd looked at the police inspector for an explanation.

Billows sighed, and with a shake of his head, said, "The 'usband."

"Ahh!" echoed through the room simultaneously. The silly Lisa swooned with a sigh, and Roger ran from the room suppressing the need to retch.

"Bloody 'ell," Billows cursed, jerking the sheet back up to cover the woman.

He usually enjoyed solving a case, but not this time.

* * * *

She wanted to spit! Right in the middle of Bond Street! Right into the annoyingly smug face of the man marching beside her. Especially on him, in fact. Maybe spit right on the end of his bulbous nose arched impossibly high into the air. Bloody man was always popping up at inopportune times.

Aggie stomped along the storefront sidewalk, mumbling to herself. "Bloody chicken feet!" She needed to get rid of a certain annoying baggage marching beside her. "Charles--" she said out loud, "--would you be a dear and accompany my maid to the chocolate shop?"

"Bessie will be fine on her own." Aggie's unwanted "intended" continued his gangly gait. "I'd rather stay with you. You know your dear mother recommended I oversee your trousseau selection."

Aggie suppressed a snort. If she cared a whit about new gowns, she wouldn't want or need his input. Her only objective in coming to town was to buy a ticket--a ticket to freedom. And she didn't want him shadowing her every step.

Unfortunately, Charles hated chocolate, which was the first of many strikes against the aggravating man. Dressed in his immaculate navy coat and buff-colored trousers, he escorted Aggie to the shop, waiting outside for her--refusing to move. The arrogant jackanapes.

The leech insisted on following her everywhere, but no longer. Escape lingered outside this dress shop and a few blocks away at the shipping business.

Lady Ashcroft, one of the matrons of the ton, strolled in front of the dress shop wearing her lilac dress, accented with lace and numerous ruffles. The dress floated around the buxom woman, giving her the appearance of a stuffed cream-puff. Aggie stifled a giggle at Charles' frantic search for escape before he sighed, admitting defeat, when the woman planted herself in front of him.

"Viscount Hastings," Lady Ashcroft tittered.

Charles bowed. "Lady Ashcroft."

"I heard your father breeds spaniels, and I need some advice..."

This is my chance! Aggie thought. When Charles had arrived this morning, she had despaired, fearing all her plans were going to fall apart. Yet as Charles continued talking with the elderly Lady Ashcroft, Aggie smiled at her good fortune. She slipped out the door to purchase her freedom.

A ticket to America. A modern land full of opportunity.

Downtown London buzzed with activity. On one corner, Aggie inhaled the delicious aroma of baked bread from the oven. A few scruffy lads danced around outside Benson's Bakery, probably hoping to swipe a slice of bread for breakfast.

One elderly gentleman of the ton, whom Aggie recognized as the rude Lord Vandervoll, sneered at the ragamuffins and sent them on their way with a rebuff. Moving along, he appeared to be heading toward White's--probably to have his breakfast and tea.

Aggie quickened her step, realizing she needed to purchase the ticket and arrive back at Madame Yvette's shop before Lady Ashcroft finished her monologue, hopeful that would be no time soon.

Emerging from an alley, Aggie stepped out to cross the street. The heavens opened, spilling rain in gushes as she trudged through the streets to the shipping office. Only three more blocks.

To herself, Aggie sang an old ditty from childhood, "Miss Mary Mack, All dressed in black." Distracted, Aggie failed to notice the horse racing wildly down the street. As the note died on her lips with the word "black," Aggie noticed a dark, speeding blob bearing down on her. Her eyes widened as she froze in place. Unable to move or react, she watched the animal barrel toward her.

The screams of the onlookers jerked Aggie from her trance. The smell of the horse's sweat and lathered hide filled her nostrils. Throwing her arms over her head, she ducked and closed her eyes, preparing for death.

Rmph. Rmph. Rmph. A child's squeal echoed through her mind. The horse screamed as it fought the reins. Hooves slammed into the ground. Snort!

She felt the horse's breath heat her head even through her bonnet. She slowly opened one eye, then another. Mud stained her clothes and the smell of horse manure tickled her nose, but amazingly she still lived. Thank the good Lord.

The horse's hooves pranced impatiently, sending nervous twitches up and down her spine. Placing a hand over her racing heart, she forced herself to mentally count to ten.

One ... two ... three ... the shivers racking her body ... five ... six ... seven ... began to cease ... eight ... and she ... nine ... slowly looked up to confront the rider ... ten....

"Sir, how dare you..." So much for counting to ten! The words died on her lips when her gazed locked on horse and rider.

A glorious black beast, unlike any she'd seen before, pranced in front of her. Puffing huge clouds of breath across the mere hand's width between them, the horse managed to cause her few stray locks to frizz and stick to her face. Its black eyes sparkled with shards of brown as it jerked and mouthed the bit coated with foam.

The horse reared, and an involuntary squeal escaped Aggie's lips. Reining in her fear, she allowed her gaze to meet that of the dark rider sitting atop this magnificent steed. Strong hands gripped the reins, and heavy, muscular thighs squeezed the sides of the massive animal in an easy show of authority.

He wore dark breeches, dark boots, glinting silver spurs, and a white shirt, open at the neck. The white shirt forced Aggie to glance at her own sad appearance.

Scowling, Aggie pointed her finger at his chest. "I demand an apology, sir." Her words came out shakier than she had planned.

The arrogant man glared at her in silence, his green eyes shooting sparks of anger, the hard line of his stubborn jaw made even harder by the way he clenched his teeth. His jaw muscle jumped under bronzed skin, and Aggie had the impression he was barely restraining himself from striking out at her. What right did he have to be angry? She was the wronged one here.

Attempting to wipe the mud from her face, Aggie summoned up her righteous indignation. "Obviously, your mother never taught you the proper way to treat a lady."

She sniffed at the scoundrel, but her traitorous eyes drifted to his hair. His long, dark locks whipped in the wind and rain, reminding her just how much of a savage this man might be.

"Out of my way, girl!" The rider roared.

Yanked from her imaginings, Aggie blinked when she realized he was an American. Only an American would dress in that scandalous attire and butcher the Queen's English with such flat pronunciation. Only an American would dare be this modern. How interesting!

Yet, American or not, the scoundrel lacked the sense of a gentleman and needed a proper set-down. She couldn't allow his boorish behavior to continue and mar the reputations of other Americans, who she hoped were soon to be her countrymen.

"How dare you!" She turned her nose in the air, giving him the cut-direct.

"Move now, or I will be forced to move you myself." The man leaned over in his saddle, too close for her comfort. His eyes flared with golden shards, making Aggie's heart race with fear. And excitement?

The promise written in his eyes confused Aggie, and his intent remained beyond her naïve understanding. Charles never looked at her like this. No one did.

Yet one part of the promise she understood. He issued an order with his eyes for her to move, posthaste. No one ordered her around anymore. She bore enough orders at home from her parents and Charles. But no longer, especially from a mere stranger.

"I am not moving." She crossed her arms in defiance.

A look passed over the man's face, painting his thoughts on his strong features. He took her defiance as a dare. A dare he intended to take. Fear clogged her throat as the man dismounted his steed.

"No! Oh, no ... No ... NO!" He grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Even the haze of righteous anger settling over Aggie paled in comparison to her realizations of this man's body. He towered over her, at least several inches over six feet. Aggie had never believed herself thin compared to the dainty darlings of the ton, yet this man lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather. His firm, hard muscles rippled against her soft body as he ate up the ground with his long strides. The traitorous thoughts made Aggie blush and she forced herself to focus on her anger.

With legs kicking and arms thrashing, Aggie screamed, "Put me down this instant! You will be sorry you ever did this, you overgrown, bull-headed man!" Aggie beat him on the back with her fists for emphasis.

She glanced around and noticed to her chagrin that a crowd of spectators had witnessed her humiliation. "Bloody chicken feet!" she swore for good measure.

"What the hell?" The man stopped and set her down. His gaze bored into hers. "Where the hell did you hear such crazy nonsense?"

Aggie felt her face burn at the insult. The man dared to embarrass, mock, and humiliate her. A Wentworth never allowed such liberties!

With her blood boiling from more than rage, she began screaming, "None of your business, you sorry, no good..." When a foul enough term to describe this man remained elusive, she yelled, "CHICKEN WINGS!"

He roared with laughter, while Aggie stomped her foot and seethed. When he finished laughing, he placed a hand over her mouth, silencing any other outbursts.

"Hush, you banshee. I didn't think proper young ladies had such an interesting vocabulary. So, I am a son-of-a-chicken? I'd hate to see what you called a person you really disliked--maybe a ... hmm ... cow pie ... or a pile of pig slop?" He finished with another roar of laughter.

With her blood boiling at his rude remark, Aggie wished the torment to end. The man needed a nice bloody lip for his trouble, but her trembling body begged her to retreat. But a Wentworth never retreats!

"If you think I am going to abide your low-life, high-handed treatment, you have another think coming, sir. I will have you know that I am a lady of quality and means who has somewhere to be. You need to take your good-looking face elsewhere so I can be about my business." She smiled at her victory, knowing a man never stayed after being dismissed so coolly by a lady.

Even her impending victory failed to rein in her wandering eyes. The three undone top buttons of his shirt displayed a mass of dark curls attached to a very bronze and very muscular chest.

Shaking her head and scowling at herself, Aggie tried to remember the task at hand ... to purchase her escape route before Charles noticed her absence.

"So, I have a good-looking face?" He gazed at her with a teasing smile.

Aggie immediately tried to cover her embarrassment. "You are one arrogant man! It's people like you who give Americans a bad name."

America as her destination looked less inviting when she considered this man living in the country. At least it boasted land and space. Lots of it!

"Maybe, but a good-looking one," he countered with a wiggle of his brows.

Aggie scowled and turned around to stomp away before she made a bigger fool of herself. To think she had let slip that she thought he was good-looking. Yet before she marched a step, a hand on her shoulder stopped her progress.

"Remove your hand, sir!" Aggie hissed through clenched teeth. "Haven't you insulted me enough already?"

"What is your destination, so I can escort you?" The man offered a friendly smile, but when she continued to glare at him in silent mutiny, he demanded, "You do have a destination, don't you?"

The man worried over escorting her to her destination? Up until this point, the barbarian had displayed no sign of gentlemanly attributes, and now when she attempted to escape, he decided to grow a conscience? Biting her lip until it almost bled, Aggie fought the urge to scream and stomp her feet in a childish temper tantrum.

Remembering Madame Yvette's and her precarious predicament, she cooled her temper. Everything had worked to perfection until this boor of a man had almost trampled her. Charles or Bessie would discover her absence soon, and her precious shipping office remained a long two blocks behind the scoundrel. Drat and bloody chicken poo!

Struggling to invent a story to tell him, without letting him know her situation, Aggie spied a shop with few customers to her left.

"There--Clarence's Gentleman's Emporium." She prayed he'd believe her and leave.

He stalked over to the shop with Aggie in tow. "Now, take care of your business and go home, you little trouble-maker, and stay out of the streets. Next time I see you, I will not stop. Understand? You don't need to be out here alone. Don't you have any sense?" Glancing around, a frown formed on his angular face. "Where's your escort?"

Speechless, Aggie blushed from the hot stares the man directed her way. Shaking her head, she attempted to offer a plausible scenario. "I'm sure my companions are just shopping and will be back any moment. I thank you for bringing me to my destination. A good day to you, sir." The man unnerved her, and she needed to escape him.

Yet he refused to leave, and Aggie's heart began to race. What could she do? She needed to leave. Time was running out!

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Her only hope lay in being able to ditch him. Mentally counting to three, Aggie darted right around the man, hoping to disappear into the crowd filling the street.

For a moment, she dared to hope for success. Suddenly, a rock-hard hand imprisoned her arm. Refusing to admit defeat, Aggie kicked and thrashed only to lose her balance and end up falling right on top of her captor.

His body cushioned her fall. Heat pulsed through her veins as every inch of their bodies touched. She shivered, too nervous to speak or move.

He failed to right their precarious position soon enough for Aggie's comfort. Noticing the smell of his skin--tobacco, leather, and a hint of spice--Aggie allowed herself to calm and experienced a feeling of comfort and safety. The scents reminded her of pleasant days spent in her father's study, enjoying his company while he smoked his cigars. The peaceful, innocent days before marriage became a dinnertime topic. A faint smile played across her lips.

Shocked by her thoughts, Aggie jumped up to race for the ticket office.

The man managed to grab her arm again. His touch shot sparks up her arm. Their gazes locked while he continued to grip her arm. His thumb absently stroked her flesh, causing more new sensations to travel up her arm and warm her face. For an insane moment, Aggie feared he might kiss her, but instantly any emotions on his face disappeared.

"Well, I see you're at your destination." He gestured to the gentleman's shop behind them. "I'm afraid I will have to be on my way. I have business to attend to on the other side of town that will not wait." He strolled quickly toward where he had tied his horse on the other side of the street. "Good day." With an easy grace, he mounted the black beast. Then almost as an afterthought, he turned and tipped the brim of his hat while mumbling, "Miss."

Aggie watched the man mount his horse and kick him into a full gallop as if the devils of hell pursued him. She felt a loss and some disappointment at his abrupt flight. Although she needed to escape his company to continue her task, a part of her wished for the kiss that his eyes had promised.

Watching his retreating form, she found it impossible to tear her gaze away from him. He fascinated her. In novels, she had read about wild and untamed men called cowboys. Today, she had met her first one.

All the men throughout London dressed properly and had boringly proper personalities. No one stood out from the mass of the ton. They all appeared to be copies of what society considered the perfect gentleman. Aggie imagined the men being made at a London factory, packaged and tied to be presented at the next soirée.

That man had been different, though. In his rugged attire and longer-than-was-fashionable black, curly hair, he was a rebel. And an American! Aggie thought, although a rude one. Yet with the proper instruction...

Bong ... Bong! Big Ben chimed, reminding her...

Chicken feet! Already half an hour wasted and no ticket to show for her effort. Charles loved to talk, but not for this long. Sprinting down the street, Aggie hoped she was not too late.

Running the last two blocks, Aggie, out of breath, arrived at the London shipping office. Pushing open the front door, she became aware of her ghastly appearance when she noticed the people inside staring at her in shock.

Smiling, as if nothing abnormal had happened to her dress, Aggie approached the first desk. "I would like to purchase a ticket to America on the next outgoing ship."

The man looked skeptically at her. "No ships leaving."

"What? But there has to be something." Frantically, Aggie dug through her reticule and pulled out a gold coin. "I can pay right now."

Looking at the coin, the middle-aged, crossed-eyed agent sneered. "Not enow. Now gets gone with the likes of ye."

Mouth hanging open and words failing her, Aggie turned and left in defeat. He was the second man to speak so rudely to her today. Why had he talked to her like that? Didn't he know she was a lady?

Aggie looked down at her muddied green dress. She didn't look like a lady. Sighing, she walked on in dejected silence. She had no ticket to show for her efforts, but an annoyed Charles would be waiting for her.