World of de Wolfe Pack: Kiss an Angel (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

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  KISS AN ANGEL

  by

  MEARA PLATT

  To Kathryn Le Veque and the de Wolfe Pack sisters for their strength, warmth, and heart

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Lake District, England

  April 1819

  “Jeremiah!” Lady Eugenia Beresford shrieked, grabbing her woolen robe and wrapping it tightly around herself as she sloshed out of the tub, dripping wet and furious that he’d chosen to enter her bedchamber at this most inopportune moment. It was so typical of him to drop in and out of her life at his whim and, to make matters worse, he somehow looked handsomer each time he appeared. “How much of me did you see?”

  “Everything, of course.” He crossed his muscled arms over his broad chest and leaned against one of the mahogany bedposts of her elegant canopied bed, calm and casual, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “Why are angry, Ginny? You’re the one who summoned me.”

  “Hours ago! It’s long past supper and I’m now preparing for bed.” She hopped onto the oriental carpet to keep her feet warm, for the floor was cold and there was an icy rain pelting against the window panes. April in the Lake District was always like this, either a pounding rain or a cold mist that hovered over the lakes and woodlands, the damp chill penetrating one’s bones, and when it wasn’t raining or misting, the sky was covered in a blanket of gray clouds. She couldn’t wait for May, which was always the most beautiful month, for that’s when the sun shone brilliantly and meadow flowers bloomed.

  Unfortunately, she’d be in London by then enduring another disappointing whirl of society balls, musicales, teas, and assemblies, those entertainments designed to show her off to best advantage so that some titled and wealthy stranger might decide he can’t possibly live another moment without her as his wife.

  “I came as soon as I could,” he said, offering no other explanation as he watched her fumble with the ties of her robe to cover herself up to her neck. The glint in his eyes and twitch of his lips revealed that he found her predicament most amusing. “I’ve seen Egyptian mummies on museum display bound looser than you are.”

  She tried not to blush, but failed miserably. Her face was flaming hot and what added to her discomposure was that he was having great fun at her expense. “You ought to have bells on you that ring before you appear.”

  “Why?”

  She rolled her eyes. “To give me warning, of course. Then we could have avoided this embarrassing moment.”

  He cast her a lazy grin that simply turned her legs to butter. “I wasn’t embarrassed.”

  “Well, you ought to be. The point is…” She picked up the drying cloth that was neatly folded on the stool beside the tub and began to wring the water out of her freshly washed hair. “The point is your timing leaves much to be desired. If I were in danger, you would have been too late to save me. Ha! Some guardian angel you’ve turned out to be.”

  She heard the ruffle of Jeremiah’s massive wings, a sign that he was growing irritated with her. “You weren’t in danger from anything more serious than wrinkled skin because you soaked too long in that warm, lavender scented water.”

  “But you didn’t know that, did you?” She shifted uncomfortably when met with his charged silence and turned away. Perhaps she’d responded a little too indignantly. After all, she’d only wished to talk to him and he was right about her not being in any danger. “Sorry, you caught me by surprise. I was undressed.”

  “I noticed,” he said with a seductive growl that emanated from the back of his throat and sent tingles of delight shooting up and down her body.

  She dropped the drying cloth back on the stool and turned to face him. “See? It’s these off-handed remarks of yours that rile me.” Although the heat she was feeling had nothing to do with anger. She wasn’t sure what it was that she was feeling lately, but these sensations were new to her and most odd.

  She frowned when he continued to study her in silence. “You’re my guardian angel, my sworn protector, and yet you’re behaving like every rakehell I’ve met since my debut, ogling me as though I were a juicy haunch of pork when all any of them ever wanted was a connection to my father. They’d pay me no attention if not for the fact that I’m the Earl of Beresford’s daughter.”

  “I wasn’t ogling you, but attempting to look into your soul to figure out why you’ve been so overset lately. Is this why you summoned me? To ask for my help in finding you a husband?”

  Of course, she ought to have known better than to accuse him of improper thoughts. She was the only one having them at the moment, for the soft glow of firelight emanating from the hearth illuminated his handsome features and seemed to form a halo atop his gold hair.

  Even so, there was nothing angelic looking about her guardian angel or her thoughts about him. He more resembled a battle-hardened warrior from an ancient time and there was nothing remotely pious in his bearing, or in the slightly too long length of his hair, or the seductive slope of his hazel eyes.

  She adored his eyes.

  They weren’t merely hazel, but an ensorcelling mix of darkest emerald and richest amber, and for more than a year now, she hadn’t been able to return his stare without sparks of delight igniting her body and turning her blood into pools of flame. Why couldn’t she respond like that to one of the living, breathing gentlemen she’d met in London? No, she had to respond to a being who’d been dead for centuries.

  Excellent, Ginny. This is bound to work out well.

  Yet, how odd that he should be the only man able to stir her heart.

  “Ginny, you’re a beautiful girl inside and out,” he said, his voice husky and gentle, as though sensing her sudden uncertainty. “However, men can’t help admiring only the outward display you present because you haven’t let anyone but me close enough to see the true beauty of your heart. If they knew you as I do, they’d consider you the finest young lady of their acquaintance.”

  “I hate it when you say nice things to me,” she said with a mollified grumble. “Makes it impossible to stay angry with you.”

  “So we’re friends again?” he asked with a light chuckle.

  “I suppose.” She picked up her hairbrush and sat on a chair beside the fireplace, preparing to brush the tangles out of her hair while it dried. “How have you been, Jeremiah?” She sighed in resignation and smiled up at him, for she was always happiest when he was around. “Well, I hope. I haven’t seen you in months.”

  His responsive smile was achingly tender. “Did you miss me?”

  Desperately. But she couldn’t tell him that. Instead, she responded with another blush that she hoped he wouldn’t notice since her cheeks were still hot from the first blush that had yet to fade.

  “I’ve been well, thank you f
or asking.” He approached and bent on one knee so that they could face each other as they spoke. “You’re still frowning. What now?” His tone was one of concern, not annoyance.

  “You have a scar on your shoulder that wasn’t there before.” She wanted to reach out and trace her finger along the jagged mark, but she’d never once touched him in all the years she’d known him, which was all of her twenty-two years… almost twenty-three. Would the heavens erupt and bring thunder and lightning crashing down on her if she did? Would his touch burn? Or would it sting from cold?

  She didn’t know.

  Nor did he ever reach out to touch her, so she just assumed it was forbidden for an angel to do so except in the case of dire peril. After all, as her guardian angel, he had to be permitted to take her into his arms in order to shield her from harm.

  “It’s nothing, just a scratch,” he muttered and edged away when she brought her hand closer.

  His response caused her to hesitate. Perhaps she ought not touch him. “Jeremiah, the scar is long and deep, and hideously red. It looks like a battle wound, quite a severe one. Who did you fight?”

  His mirthless laugh was a deep, resonant rumble that came from deep within his soul. “Who do you think angels fight?”

  “But you’re a guardian angel, not a…” Her voice trailed off, for she was going to say he was not a warrior angel, although he certainly looked like a warrior and a magnificent one at that, broad in the shoulders and tall in height. He was all muscle and sculpted granite.

  Dangerously handsome, too.

  He hadn’t appeared that way to her at first. Indeed, for years he’d come to her looking like a refined, older gentleman of the ton with stylish hat and walking stick and elegant silk cravat. Sometime after her eighteenth birthday he’d started to slowly change before her eyes, becoming younger and obviously taller. More muscular. His hair turning a thick, rich gold.

  His attire had changed as well, no longer of the current fashion, but something more medieval or perhaps from an older time, for men in those times did not stride around shirtless, their chests covered only in a brown leather vest, nor would they look as good as Jeremiah did right now wearing breeches that hugged the hard contours of his body.

  Only disciplined warriors had such fine bodies.

  She assumed only warrior angels had such powerful wings that would allow them to twist and turn and soar through the heavens with ease.

  In truth, it seemed as though Jeremiah was slowly changing out of the costume he’d been wearing all these years and revealing a little of his true self with each change. Why the need for a masquerade? Or was the change occurring in the opposite direction, he purposely slipping a mask over his true self? More questions to ask him.

  More questions that he would refuse to answer, for he rarely replied with any useful tidbits when asked, and on those meager occasions when he did respond, he spoke in riddles that she never seemed able to understand.

  This was another reason why she found him impossibly irritating. “Were you fighting demons? Do they truly exist? I thought the ills of our world were caused by disease or droughts or the evils that men brought upon each other.”

  “Most are caused by those things you mention, but demons feed on that misery and hatred.” He was still kneeling beside her, this time gazing into the flames that danced like wood sprites in the hearth, their red and orange shapes writhing and straining upwards as they gained strength from the burning logs.

  Ginny’s heart tugged. “And this demon you encountered was too strong and bested you. Oh, dear! He might have–”

  “Bested me?” He rose abruptly and straightened to his full height, his feathers madly ruffling. “No one bests me in battle! I’m–” He suddenly clamped his nicely formed lips shut and, obviously angry with himself for almost revealing who he had been when alive, ran a hand roughly through his hair and began to pace across the room to calm himself.

  He’d kept his identity a closely guarded secret all these years. Ginny couldn’t understand why. He knew everything there was to know about her. Indeed, he knew too much. She had believed him when he’d said a few moments earlier that he was merely looking into her heart, but he couldn’t deny that he was also keenly aware of her body and knew every curve and pulse.

  Indeed, he knew every freckle on her every curve and pulse.

  “This is bloody nonsense. You don’t need me here.” The brrrrk, brrrrk, brrrrk of his fluttering feathers filled the air as he spoke, the noise like a dealer madly shuffling a deck of cards. “Don’t call me again unless you’re in imminent danger and not merely bemoaning your fate as you approach spinsterhood.”

  She gasped and rose to face him, although she had to now tip her head upward to meet his gaze. He was a big, angry oaf of an angel and the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. A shoulder that still had a prominent scar running along its length. A newly acquired scar. “How can you say such a thing to me? I was worried about you and you flung my concern aside like a used up rag. I’m not a spinster or doomed to become one. I’ll show you! I’ll have no less than three offers of marriage by the end of the season and I fully intend to accept one of them.”

  His eyes turned brooding and turbulent. “I’ll not have you marry out of anger or desperation.”

  “Desperation?” She gripped the hairbrush she was still holding tight in her fist and willed herself to remain composed. She refused to shed a tear, no matter how deeply he’d wounded her with his words. Did he think so little of her as to believe no one would want her?

  He groaned. “Ginny–”

  “I’m not about to marry out of anger either,” she said with a huff, disappointed that he didn’t mean any of the tender words he’d spoken upon first arriving in her bedchamber. Were they lies? Were angels capable of lying? Wasn’t it a sin? “I’m not angry with anyone but you.”

  “Because I spoke the truth?”

  She gasped. “I’m not to be shoved into the wallflower corner and left to wilt on the vine. While I may be reluctant to marry merely for the sake of being someone’s wife, I can assure you that I am not desperate. Someone out there must want me. Indeed, I expect I’ll have little trouble finding several gentlemen who will.”

  Jeremiah held up his hands as though in surrender. “I know you will. The men will flock to you like sheep, just as they’ve done these past three seasons. It doesn’t change the fact that none of those powdered and pampered dullards is right for you.”

  She gave a little huff. “Who appointed you the arbiter of who is right or wrong for me? Isn’t it up to me to decide? I think I know my own heart better than anyone else does, including you. Especially you.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides and grumbled. “You’re wrong. I’ve seen into your soul, Ginny. I know you better than you know yourself. I can choose the right husband for you.”

  She didn’t know whether to trust him. Not that he would purposely undermine her husband search, but what sort of man would he put forward as a suitable mate? She shuddered to think! “I don’t need your help.”

  “Right, you summoned me here for nothing then. You called me away from a cataclysmic battle between good and evil on a mere whim and now you’ve changed your mind.” His eyes turned dangerously stormy. “A word of advice on your husband quest, find someone who will make you happy for the rest of your days, someone who will admire and protect you.”

  “I fully intend to.”

  “Most important, find someone who will love you more than he loves your family wealth and connections. Someone who loves you beyond anything on this earth. Someone who will die for you without a moment’s hesitation.”

  “Are you quite finished lecturing me? I’m not a fool, Jeremiah. I know the sort of man I need to find.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “The only problem is that I can’t seem to find him on my own.” She raised her gaze to his once more, daring to meet the fiery amber and green glow of his eyes. The heat of his stare caused her anger to
melt away, for amid his glower of wounded pride was a glint of fierce protectiveness, an unspoken promise that he would die for her without hesitation, that she mattered more to him than his own eternal existence.

  That’s why she could never remain angry with him, even though he was still indignant over her unintended insult about his battle prowess. Next time she’d make it a point to swoon and gush and indulge his male arrogance, proclaim him the finest warrior who ever existed. He probably had been, for she couldn’t imagine anyone besting this rock-hard mountain of a man.

  He continued to glower at her. “And who is this paragon you’re determined to marry?”

  Still aching to touch him, but knowing she never could, she cast him the gentlest smile. “Someone like you… only alive.”

  Chapter 2

  “Will you help me, Jeremiah?” Ginny asked, her big brown eyes wide in obvious trepidation, not so much for his answer, but for the journey upon which she’d decided to embark. He hadn’t minded when her sister had decided to marry. But Ginny? The possibility that another man might touch her, sleep with her wrapped in his arms, or that another man might run his fingers through the beautiful silken mass of her dark hair, was not something he was prepared to accept yet.

  He rubbed the scar on his shoulder as it began to bother him. He’d been cut by a demon’s talons, causing the wound to fester beneath the puckered expanse of torn skin. But that injury would heal given time, unlike the deep cut to his heart that would never heal once he lost Ginny to another man.

  The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.

  Ginny?

  He’d seen her this evening climbing naked out of the tub after her bath, an unexpected occurrence that still had his blood pounding and crashing with tidal wave force throughout his body. Even his wings were in a hot ruffle of sexual torment so that he’d likely crash into walls if he attempted to fly off now. Give her up?

  Hell, no.

  He’d watched over her, protected her from the day she was born. He was her guardian angel and she was his charge. There should have been nothing more between them. Indeed, there could never be anything more between them. But give her up?