Wicked Angel (Blackthorne Trilogy) Read Free Page A

Woodbridge family or her father's conversion to Methodism. "We really must get along home, Papa," she said stiffly. "Aunt Regina will fret if she hears of this before we're safely returned." The old woman always heard the latest gossip faster than an East End cutpurse could vanish in the warrens of Whitechapel.
           "This rabble-rousing hedge preacher ain't goin' nowhere," a fat, pockmarked watchman said, seizing the Reverend Woodbridge's arm with one sausage-fingered hand.
           "What's the charge?" Alex inquired, blocking the charley's view of the bodies in the alley while quickly hiding his knife from sight.
           "Eh, hoo er you?"
           "Mr. Blackthorne, this is Harry Wrexham. I once made the grave mistake of confusing a member of the watch with a gentleman," Joss said in dulcet tones.
           Ignoring her, Wrexham replied to Alex, " 'E's charged wi' startin' this 'ere riot, that's whot. Now come along,
    revie," he said, yanking on the cleric's arm once more.
           'That's absurd! My father was set upon by Jem Barker and his pack of ruffians, who deliberately stirred up the criminal elements," Joss replied hotly. "Just ask anyone respectable who witnessed the event."
           "No one respectable would be 'ere, mixin' in where they don't belong," the charley replied.
           "I think I shall take umbrage at that remark on behalf of my nephew and myself," Caruthers inteijected, raising his quizzing glass to peer at the watchman haughtily.
           Wrexham recognized at once that the man who now stepped forward was Quality. Bowing obsequiously, he stammered, "I'm that sorry, milord, I am. Didn't mean nothin' by it, I didn't."
           'Then you would not doubt that the Reverend Woodbridge had nothing to do with inciting the riot."
           "Well, Miss Woodbridge is a bit of a rabble-rouser, beg- gin' yer pardon, milord."
           "You doubt the word of a lady?" Monty's voice changed from chilly to icy.
           "Wall, no ... but. .."
           "Certainly you do not doubt my word then, since I witnessed what the lady reported?" Monty's voice was a silky purr now.
           "Blimy, no, milord! If 'is lordship vouches for th' reverend and 'is daughter, ole Wrexham, 'e ain't goin' to argue. 'Ave a fine day, yer worship, a fine day indeed," he repeated, bowing. He released his hold on the preacher and scuttled off.
           Joss placed her gloved fingers to her lips to suppress a peal of mirth. Perhaps Mr. Blackthorne's arrogant uncle was not so insufferable after all. "I've never seen that fat old poltroon so intimidated. We're greatly in your debt, milord."
           Odd, she was almost pretty when she smiled that way, Alex thought, viewing Joss's face in profile. And his uncle had indeed saved the day. Perhaps his banishment to England had some real possibilities after all. He waited as the social amenities of farewells were exchanged between Caruthers and the Woodbridges, then reached out and took Joss's hand, raising it to his lips for a salute. "Until we meet again, Miss Woodbridge."
           "Oh!" she gasped in dismay as she saw the sooty smear staining her white glove, acquired no doubt when she was mucking about on the ground for her lost glasses.
           Alex kissed her hand politely, ignoring the gray smudge on the glove. And the even larger one across her mouth.
     
     

 
     
    Chapter Two
     
     
           "Why on earth anyone should pine away in despair if denied a voucher to this place utterly eludes me," Alex said sotto voce to his uncle as the two men stood near the refreshment table at Almacks.
           "You, ungrateful young cur, have no idea what exaggerations and outright prevarications my wife had to invent to secure you a guest's ticket," Monty replied with a grim chuckle. "The patronesses were won over by the fact that you're part red Indian. I suspect they hope you'll stir up some