Free An Angel for the Earl by Bárbara Metzger Page A

he said he was sorry. “And for your collection melting. Lord only knows how, but I’ll make it up some way.”
    â€œYou already did, my lord, you saved my life. Besides, while I was lying there more dead than alive, an angel came and told me we’ll come about.”
    â€œShe wasn’t wearing a red dress, by any chance, was she?”
    â€œYou know, I wondered about that very same thing.”
    * * *
    Kerry sent Demby off to a hotel while he in his shirt-sleeves went to help the firefighters, carrying buckets and hoses. He even went with them to have a mulled ale after, to warm up. Just one. The captain said it was too soon and too dark to assess the destruction, but guessed it likely that the worst damage was from the smoke and water. The fire hadn’t really spread yet, so the structure should be sound. Of course, it would take most of Kerry’s remaining funds just to get the place clean and livable again, to say nothing of his clothes, household necessities, and buying the firemen a few more rounds.
    He decided to bed down in the stables for the night rather than follow Demby to the hotel, thinking to guard against any looters bacon-brained enough to believe there was anything of value left in Stanford House.
    He was counting the money Demby had been keeping, adding in the remnants from his purse and his pockets. He added the fireman’s benevolent lottery ticket to the pile.
    â€œYou won’t win, you know.” Lucinda was sitting on an overturned bucket in the corner of the empty stall his lordship had selected as the evening’s bedchamber.
    She looked younger somehow, or perhaps the lantern glow made her hair seem more gold, less red. The sight of her still took his breath away, and not just because she’d appeared out of nowhere. “How can you be sure?” he asked.
    â€œI just saved your life. Can’t you trust me?”
    â€œI never got a chance to thank you for that either. The firemen said it was a miracle the smoke didn’t kill me.”
    â€œThere’s no need to look so humble.” Lucy thought Lord Stanford was looking even more handsome than ever, in fact, brown curls all tousled and a smudge on one cheek. No wonder the man found it so easy being a rake. “I cannot very well save your soul without saving your life. Speaking of souls, no one has yet gone to heaven on a wager, so you may as well give poor Demby that raffle ticket to get his mind off his loss. We have nobler considerations.”
    â€œWe do?” Still, he put the printed ticket away in the box, then shuddered as Lucy produced a thick sheaf of papers. “By Jupiter, ma’am, you don’t intend to start reading me sermons, do you?”
    â€œWould they do any good? I have it on high authority that you never paid proper attention to one before, so I misdoubt you’d start at this late date. I had thought to find defense of sorts for your behavior here.” She tapped the papers. “The British legal code. Such things usually hold little sway with my, ah, superiors, but I thought if we proved you a model citizen…”
    â€œThat’s the ticket. You can tell the lady judges I’m a regular upright law-abider. Never boxed a charley, never cried ‘Fire!’ in a public place, except tonight of course.”
    â€œHmm. Do you know they have laws here in London about herding cattle through the streets, laws about crossing sweeps and sidewalk vendors and where Gypsies may camp? I’m afraid there is also a law about making duels illegal.”
    â€œThe magistrate wrote it up as a hunting accident.”
    â€œAnd they did pass the Seditions Act.”
    â€œWhat, should I go to jail for saying the king is insane?”
    â€œYou did tell Lord Sidmouth that we were losing the war due to inefficiency, and you have mentioned that England would be better off with a few more bordellos than with any of Prinny’s pavilion