"An excellent romance loaded with adventure."
Reviewed by Suan Wilson
Posted February 13, 2005
Romance Historical
Sidonie Saint-Godard refuses to follow her late mother's
example as the mistress to a powerful man. Instead, Sidonie
eloped at 17 with a rogue and lived an adventurous life on
the high seas for 10 years until her husband died. On a
tight budget, Sidonie returns to London and teaches
deportment to the daughters of newly affluent cits.
However, at night, Sidonie continues her quest for
adventure by robbing and humiliating the rich as the Black
Angel. Sidonie makes one major mistake. She robs the Devil
of Duke Street, leaving him bellowing for revenge. Since the death of his brother and the estrangement with
his parents, Aleric, the Marquess of Devellyn, spends his
time gambling, drinking and neglecting his mistresses. His
mistress screams about his heartlessness, which cements
society's view of his dissolute ways. His golden-boy looks
show his world-weary lifestyle by the hardness and lines
around his eyes. His behavior is outrageous as he seeks to
punish himself and his father. Aleric blames himself for
his brother's death and faults his father for not forgiving
him for the accident. Aleric's carousing leads him into the Black Angel's path.
Believing him a black-hearted rogue, she steals his gold
and family heirloom, leaving Aleric bare ass and tied to
the bed for his friends to find. Aleric abandons his
boredom as he searches for the Black Angel. Larceny was in
her heart, but Aleric cannot forget the raw energy and lust
between the Black Angel and the Devil! Ms. Carlyle has written a rousing romance brimming with
adventure. As always, her insight into her characters make
them unforgettable. Ms. Carlyle never disappoints in giving
readers a strong and emotional story. Enjoy and savor this
excellent romance.
SUMMARY
By day, Sidonie Saint-Godard is a quietly elegant young
widow who teaches deportment to the unpolished daughters of
London's nouveau riche. By night, she is someone altogether
different.... The notorious Black Angel -- so called for her lusciously
located angel tattoo -- ruthlessly takes from powerful men
who exploit, and gives to those who suffer at their hands.
Always in disguise, she has eluded capture and her identity
remains a mystery.... The Marquess of Devellyn, one of the least noble noblemen
in
town, uses and discards women as he pleases. But when the
Black Angel entices him into her bed, ties him up, and
pilfers his most valued possession, she may have gone too
far. This time, Devellyn tells her, she'll have the devil
to
pay. And he definitely means to collect.
ExcerptIn which Our Hero Meets an Angel The Anchor was an old riverside inn frequented by pirates,
smugglers, thieves, and the occasional nob out on a lark.
Opium, untaxed brandy, sex of any sort; all could be had
at the Anchor. Devellyn noticed the fancy piece in the
red velvet dress the moment she entered the room. One
could scarcely miss the way her hand—a surprisingly clean,
long-fingered hand—slid caressingly over Sir Alasdair
MacLachlan’s shoulder. Alasdair, of course, did not notice. He had fifty guineas
on the table, and was holding a fistful of cards which
were quivering with excitement. Warming the sheets with
some wench was the furthest thing from his mind. It should have been far from Devellyn’s. But he was
losing, and looking for a little distraction. He was also
foxed. He watched the tart lean against the bar and order
a glass of gin. Gin? Good Lord. She certainly wasn’t his
type. She was also tall and lush, with a bosom that was about to
burst from her dress, which was cut right down to the
nipples. Her hair was a garish shade of red which clashed
so violently with her velvet dress the vision could have
stopped a mail coach. She had one elbow propped on the
bar, and was boldly surveying the noisy room. In short,
she looked like just what she was, a dockside dolly-mop
with big breasts and abysmal taste. But her eyes. Now there was something odd. She had quick,
intelligent eyes. They did not seem to belong with the
rest of her body. Devellyn kept glancing surreptitiously
at them, wishing he could make out the color. Her cheeks
were oddly high, giving her a bit of a tight, rabbity look
about the face. The mouth, though, was not bad. She had a
small mole just at one corner, and something about it
tormented him. Yet the woman kept lowering her lashes and
looking at Alasdair. That was beginning to annoy him. Once, her tongue came out, and teased lightly at the
corner of her mouth, almost touching the mole. Devellyn
ordered another bottle of brandy, and hunkered down with
his hand. Then again, a man who’d drunk as much as he had
probably oughtn’t be playing cards. But Alasdair had
insisted. Well, of course he had. His luck was in tonight.
Devellyn’s, unfortunately, was not. He tossed down his
hand and admitted it. Again, the woman strolled through the room. Again, that
hungry, sidelong look at Alasdair. Her hip brushed against
his chair, but Alasdair held a handful of spades—enough to
clear the table if he kept his wits, which he likely
would. Alasdair was the consummate gambler. Devellyn
pulled away from his friend’s shoulder and began to debate
with himself over what to do. He wanted to tumble the tart in the red dress, dash it. He
didn’t know why. He just did. It was probably just the
perversity of her behavior. She hadn’t looked at him once
all night, which was odd. Women always looked at him, if
for no other reason than to take in his size. Perhaps she
meant to tease him. Or perhaps he wasn’t her type. On the
other hand, perhaps he was? With a curt goodnight to his
friends, he shoved back his chair, took what was left of
his money, and ambled off to find out. Apparently, he was her type. “Wot, a big, strapping buck like you?” She grinned and
dropped her eyes to his crotch. “Might ought’er charge you
extra, I’m thinking.” Devellyn grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her toward the
stairs. “You might just find yourself so grateful you give
my money back,” he growled. Then halfway up, he stopped.
He’d forgotten something, blister it. In the darkened
stairwell, he pulled her around to face him. “What’s your
name, girl?” She dropped her gaze suggestively. “Ruby.” Despite her
horrid Cockney accent and oddly grating voice, the word
came out silky, sending a chill down his spine. “Ruby
Black.” He let his eyes drift down the tawdry red dress again.
Ruby Black looked like she knew what she was doing.
Devellyn was suddenly grateful. He was in no mood to tutor
a virgin, or anything remotely near it. And he was in no
mood for a quick rutting, either. Camelia’s leaving him
had left him feeling bereft, and severely sexually
frustrated. He was in the mood for a woman that could take
it hard, and take it for a good long while. He stopped,
and jerked her around again. “How much, Ruby, for the whole night?” “Coo!” said Ruby. But she named her price. He gladly
agreed. Ruby tucked the money away, then looked up at him through
her thick, dark lashes. “I’m Devellyn,” he grunted by way of introduction. Her room was narrow and squalid, barely lit by one
sputtering, stinking tallow candle. The furnishings were
threadbare, the floor just rough planking, but the narrow
oak poster bed looked as though it could bear his weight.
What did he care for ambiance? He wanted sex. Ruby ran her hands down his chest, then brushed one
teasingly over his belly. “Oh, yer something, Mr.
Devellyn, ain’t you?” she said, her nostrils delicately
flaring. She leaned into him, her thigh brushing his
already jutting erection, and in the gloom, he saw her
eyes widen. “Gawd,” she whispered. “I’d hate ter see that
one when yer stone-cold sober.” He was flattered. He shouldn’t have been, and he knew it.
He was half cup-shot, and she was just bought
accommodation, and it was all artifice and show. But there
was something, he thought, in her face. A hunger. A
yearning. Suddenly, he wished he could be certain. “Damn
it,” he said. “Why is it so infernal dark in here?” Ruby looked suddenly injured. “I make me livin’ on me
back, gov’nor,” she said. “And candles are a penny apiece
at the Anchor.” He started to pull away, but she slid her hands between
his legs, cupping his ballocks in her small, warm
palm. “Oh, gawd, don’t go now,” she whispered, sounding a
little desperate. Desperate was good. Devellyn liked his
women desperate. Then he jerked himself up short. She wasn’t his woman. She
was a riverside strumpet, for pity’s sake. But at the
moment, he was having trouble remembering that. Lord, he’d
best keep his wits about him. He snared her wrist, and
pulled her against him. “Look here, girl,” he
grumbled. “You’d best be clean.” Her eyes drifted insolently over him. “I ain’t gonna tip
you the token, me fine gent,” she said. “If that’s wot yer
thinking.” “Good,” he said, snarling a little. “The last bloody thing
I need just now is a bad case of the clap.” She jerked her wrist away and stepped back. “Look ’er, Mr.
Devellyn,” she said. “There’s plenty o’ warm coves’ll pay
ready money for wot I’m sellin’. If you don’t want it,
no ’ard feelings. Just move on, awright?” Damn it all, he didn’t want to move on. The woman—Ruby—
seemed to possess something special. He didn’t know what
it was. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten a good look at her
yet. But he wanted her badly, and he couldn’t say why. She
seemed to ooze carnal hunger. He thought he could smell
the lust on her skin. And she had a lot of skin. Suddenly, he was eager to see more. His hand went to her
breast, which was warm and heavy. He moved to tug the
cheap velvet down so that he might fill his mouth with it,
but she pulled his hand away, and pushed it back. “Wot’s yer hurry, gov?” “I’m paying you,” he said. “What do you care?” She pulled a little away. “You’re a big man, Mr.
Devellyn,” she whispered. “P’raps I ought’er be afraid o’
you?” He tried to smile. “I think not.” She fluttered her lashes suggestively. “But I am a
little,” she confessed, her voice growing husky. “I think
a great big buck like you needs ter be managed a bit.” “Managed?” he asked. “Made ter go slow,” she whispered. “Made ter take his time
wiv ’is business.” He chuckled softly. “And how do you propose to do that?” “Oh, I have me ways,” said Ruby, her voice
provocative. “Me specialty, you might say.” He couldn’t help but be intrigued. “And just what sort of
specialty would that be, my girl?” She paused for a moment. “I can make you beg for it,
Devellyn.” “I don’t think so,” he answered. “I’m a straightforward
sort of fellow, Ruby. I don’t fancy anything unusual. Just
a good, hard ride will do.” In the dim light, he could see her mouth form an amazingly
pretty pout. She was not really afraid of him, he didn’t
think—though he’d come across one or two women who were.
But Ruby, he decided, just wanted to toy with him a bit.
And what was the harm? He was tired of cards, tired of
trawling from one hell to the next with his friends in
search of something he hadn’t already seen, had, or
tasted. Tired of life, really. Certainly he was too tired to go looking for a mistress to
replace Camelia. Then he’d seen the redhead and realized
he couldn’t completely do without, either. But her lush
bottom lip was quivering now, and she was looking
disappointed. That seemed to be his specialty,
disappointing women. Suddenly, and very foolishly, he
decided not to disappoint this one. He reached around and filled his hand with her arse. “All
right, Ruby,” he whispered, crudely lifting her pelvis
against the erection which strained at his trousers. “Have
your way with me. I’ve got all bloody night to get what I
want from you.” Ruby smiled, and slid her hands up his chest beneath his
coat, pushing it off his shoulders. Devellyn let go of his
luscious handful, and allowed the coat to slide into the
floor. She made a sound of satisfaction in her throat. “Not an
ounce o’ padding on you, is there?” Her voice was thick as
he urged his cock against her. “And that’s a reg’lar
tipstaff shoved down yer trousers.” He gave a wry smile, and watched her slender fingers brush
his flesh through the wool. It felt wicked. Wonderful. He
gave a little moan of pleasure. “Tell me something,
gov’nor,” she rasped, her hands going to his
waistcoat. “You said yer wanted it slow. Do you?” Devellyn watched the buttons slip free. “That depends,” he
said. “How do you like it, Ruby?” She lowered her lashes, and wouldn’t look him in the
eyes. “I likes it slow, Mr. Devellyn,” she
whispered. “Real slow. And I like my man to beg a little.
Nothing gets a girl’s blood up like a hot, sweating
stallion of a man straining at the bit.” It sounded oddly tempting to him. She pushed his waistcoat
off. Cool air breezed up the back of his shirt. “Perhaps
you’d best tell me what your game is, Ruby,” he murmured. The pout reappeared. “No need ter play, Mr. Devellyn, if
you’ve no interest.” He set his hands on her shoulders. “Just answer the damned
question,” he growled. “That tipstaff down my trousers is
interest enough, isn’t it?” Ruby held his gaze for a moment. “It’s just that you look
ter me like a real fine gent, Mr. Devellyn,” she
answered. “You got any notion how many o’ them we get over
in Southwark?” He snorted. “Not many.” “Not many is right,” she agreed. “But I got me some
aspirations.” “Aspirations?” He tried not to laugh. She slowly nodded. “I’m good,” she said. “Real good at
what I do. And I’m tired o’ working the South Bank. I want
ter go uptown. Ter be kept in style a bit. I want me a
proper place, somewhere snug and warm. And I want me some
fine clothes.” He grabbed her hands, and held them still a moment. “Sorry
to dash your hopes, Ruby,” he answered. “But I’m just here
to rub a little rust off my pipe. I’m not looking for a
permanent arrangement.” She fluttered her lashes at him. “Oh, I knows that,
gov’nor,” she said. “But you knows other proper gents,
don’t you? Like them two chaps downstairs? P’raps you
could pass me name around, if I give satisfaction? That
pretty bloke w’the yellow hair—I fancied the look o’ him,
I did.” Alasdair? The woman was still thinking of Alasdair?
What a bloody damned insult! Suddenly, something in him snapped. “To hell with this,”
he said. “You aren’t getting paid to talk.” He jerked her
hard against him, and crushed her mouth beneath his. He
kissed her crudely, forcing her head back as he pushed her
mouth wide and thrust his tongue deep. Oh, Lord. She
tasted good. Like ripe fruit. Like cheap gin and red-hot
sin, and something he craved but couldn’t name. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go.
Instead, he kept kissing her, kept thrusting deep into her
mouth with his tongue. Trapped against his body, Ruby
began to struggle, shoving at his shoulders with her
palms. Even then, he almost didn’t stop. Lust and
frustration surged through his body anew. He wanted to be
inside her, wanted to keep kissing her so she wouldn’t
speak of things he didn’t want to hear. She was beating him with the heels of her hands now. Good God, he had to get a grip on himself. Gasping for
breath, he tore his mouth away and stared down at her.
Suddenly, despite the darkness, he thought he saw real
fear sketch across her face. “Oh, Lord,” he gasped. “I’m sorry.” She was still shaking. He really had frightened her.
Roughly, he dragged a hand through his hair. Perhaps Ruby
did not have as much experience as he’d thought? And
whatever else she might be, she was a human being. He shut
his eyes, and felt the shame wash over him. “I’m sorry,”
he said again. “I just haven’t . . . haven’t had . . . oh,
hell, I’m sorry.” She turned her face away, and said nothing. But he could
sense her fighting down fear. He opened his eyes. “Look, let’s just get this over with,
Ruby,” he said more gently. “Just take off your clothes
and lie down on the bed, all right? Just let me have a
quick pump, and I’ll be on my way. I didn’t mean to
frighten you.” “I am not frightened,” she said, her voice so firm her
Cockney accent almost vanished. “I am not afraid of you,
Devellyn.” He took her chin in his hand, and turned her face into
his, cursing the darkness that almost blinded him. But
indeed, she did not look frightened. If she had been, she
had reined it under control. “I don’t want to frighten you,” he said, dropping his
hands. He no longer touched her in any way. “I’m not that
sort of man, Ruby. That’s not how I take my pleasure.” “Awright,” she said, her voice soft. Then she leaned into
him, and set her hands on his chest. “That’s a posh
lookin’ crumpler, gov.” Her tone was light again.
Stronger. “Let’s ’ave it orf, hmm? P’raps we’ll think of
a better use for it.” He looked down to see her grinning unapologetically at
him. Oh, what the hell? “Yes, perhaps we will,” he agreed. She untied the elaborate knot with no difficulty. She
unwound half the cloth from his neck, circled it around
her own, and drew their faces together. She kissed the
corner of his mouth, then ran her tongue across his bottom
lip. “Umm,” she moaned, then she drew the swell of his lip
between her small teeth, and bit, none to gently, either.
A sudden, fierce craving shot through him, making his
balls contract and his cock quiver. Inside, his stomach
seemed to bottom out. “Good Lord, girl,” he whispered as her mouth traveled down
his throat. Her tongue traced a line of fire along his
collar, and he realized she was already unbuttoning his
trousers. He wasn’t sure just what he was supposed to do,
didn’t want to bollix things up again, so he stood, still
and stoic as she touched him. It seemed to be just what she wanted. She drew the cravat
away and tossed it onto the bed pillow. Then, with another
little sound of satisfaction, she went down on her knees
to pull off his boots. That done, she tugged off his
stockings with impatient little jerks, Devellyn clutching
the bedpost for balance. It was odd, but he couldn’t recall ever having been
undressed by a woman, other than the unfastening of a few
token buttons, or the untying of his cravat. He rather
liked watching her do it. He rather liked Ruby, too. He liked her lush figure and
narrow shoulders. He liked her strange, raspy voice. And
he especially liked how she looked on her knees. She was
rough around the edges, and certainly not his type. But
strangely, he found himself toying with doing just as she
wanted. Letting her have her way with him. Letting her
make him beg. Then keeping her someplace snug and warm,
and buying her some fancy clothes. Good Lord, he’d be the laughingstock of all his friends.
But he didn’t give a damn. Ruby started to stand, and
abruptly, he set one hand on her shoulder and urged her
back down again. “Wait,” he said, the other hand fumbling
at his trousers. He freed the last button and impatiently
shoved the fabric down. His cock sprang free, so hot and
hard he feared he might shoot wild before she got it in
her mouth. He watched in satisfaction as Ruby’s eyes
widened. “Take it,” he rasped, touching himself. “Take it, Ruby.
Please. Please. I’m begging you.” Devellyn had forgotten he was the one in control. He had
forgotten he was paying her, and that the word please need
not enter into the transaction. Ruby looked uncertain, but
she slid a tentative hand back and forth along his length.
Devellyn felt his whole body begin to shudder almost
uncontrollably, as if he were a schoolboy again. His hand
lashed out, grabbing for the bedpost. Abruptly, Ruby released him and stood up slowly, letting
her body rub over his as she rose. “Are you eager,
Devellyn?” she whispered, leaning in so that her lips
brushed his neck just below his ear. “Are you?” He tried to nod. “Eager enou—” He sucked in his breath on a gasp when her cool hands slid
up his belly. He felt his muscles tighten and shiver
beneath her touch. She pushed his shirt up as she went.
Devellyn let go of the bedpost, and stripped it off over
his head with one hand. “Coo,” murmured Ruby at the sight of his chest. “Built
like a side o’ lean beef, you are.” “What do you want, Ruby?” he asked through clenched
teeth. “Whatever it is, for pity’s sake, girl, get on with
it before I explode.” Ruby leaned forward, and ran her tongue around one of his
nipples making his breath seize. “Not so fast, you fine,
big buck,” she whispered. As she licked him, her hands
went to his waist, pushing down his drawers and trousers.
They fell to his ankles, and he realized vaguely that he
was bare-arsed naked, while she was still fully clothed. His hands went to her bodice. “Take it off, Ruby,” he
whispered. “Now. Please?” She made a purring sound in her throat, and pushed him
toward the bed. “Lie down, Devellyn,” she ordered,
slipping off her shoes. “Lie down on the bed, love, and I
swear, I’ll give you just wot you deserve.” His every fiber alive with desire, he did as she asked.
And he had to admit, his desire was heightening. She
probably would have him begging before it was over with. Ruby watched him, her eyes aflame as they ran down his
naked body. Then she set one foot on the lumpy mattress,
hiking up her skirts so high he could see her garter and
then some. The woman had long, flawless calves, and thighs
which looked slender and tight beneath her cotton drawers. “Is this wot yer wantin’, Devellyn?” she rasped, rolling
her garter to her ankle. “Do you want this leg wrapped
round yer waist?” With slow, erotic motions, she pulled
the stocking off. “Or would you rather ’ave me ankle
hooked round yer neck?” He swallowed hard. “Both, please,” he said, choking out
the words.
“Please,” she softly echoed. “Ooh, I do like the sound o’
that. Now you just lie there real still, Devellyn. Let me
play me little game, lovey, and I promise you’ll be
screamin’ afore I’m done wiv you.” “Christ Jesus,” he whispered. She tossed the stocking somewhere near his head, and
proceeded to do the same with the opposite leg. Devellyn
did as she asked. He lay still on the bed, simply watching
her and wanting her, his cock twitching insistently. “The dress now, Ruby,” he pleaded, reaching out for
her. “Take it off and let me see everything. Your breasts.
Your belly. Everything. Oh, God, have mercy and hurry up.” Ruby smiled impishly, hiked up her skirts, and mounted him
with her legs spread wide. “Oh, God!” he cried as her warm weight straddled his
cock. “Do you want me to beg, Ruby? Is that it? Please,
then. Please. For pity’s sake, take me.” He no longer cared about getting her clothes off. It
seemed unimportant now. The scent of woman surrounded him,
was drowning him. She smelled surprisingly clean and
sweet. He groaned deep in his chest, dragging in air. In response, Ruby leaned forward and kissed him, hot and
open-mouthed, and roughly, he shoved one hand between
them, intent on finding the slit in her drawers, or just
ripping them off altogether. But Ruby, it seemed, had other ideas. Her slender fingers
encircled his wrist and pushed his hand back over his
head. “Go slow, lovey,” she whispered against his
mouth. “Let’s go real slow, awright? I want ter tease you
a bit. Get me mount in a real lather, so ter speak.” He realized what she meant when he felt her slip the
stocking round his wrist. But Ruby was still straddling
him, and kissing him again, thrusting inside his mouth
now, and making sweet, urgent noises. He heard the rustle
of fabric, felt the stocking go tight around his flesh,
and felt a strange little thrill run through him. He knew of men who were sexually excited by such things
and worse. Apparently, he was one of them. Despite the
vast quantity of alcohol he’d consumed tonight, his cock
was hard as a doorknocker, and throbbing with his every
heartbeat. She shifted a little, and he almost lost
control. “Hurry,” he whispered, as her lips slid over his. Ruby let her teeth rake down his throat. The pain was
sharp. Exquisite. “Hurry up,” he choked. “Wot’s the rush, lovey?” she asked, encircling his
opposite wrist with his own cravat. He turned his head, and tore his mouth from hers just as
the second knot slipped tight. “Take me inside, Ruby,” he
begged. “Now.” “Ooo, Mr. Devellyn,” she whispered. “I’m getting ready to
give it to you real good.” “Ruby, you don’t understand!” he rasped, squeezing his
eyes shut and praying for control. “I’m going to—I just
can’t—can’t wait—” The knot jerked fast, drawing his wrist firmly against the
wooden bedpost. “’Fraid you’ll have to, gov’nor,” she said, her voice
suddenly cool. He felt her weight shift, and he opened his eyes “Ruby?”
he said. “Wha—?” She had the second stocking stuffed in his mouth so fast,
he couldn’t draw breath. For a moment, he was dazed.
Confused. Then sudden knowledge slammed into him. God damn her. The bitch was on her feet now, rummaging through his
pockets like a squirrel. Purse. Watch. Keys. Loose coins.
Everything he carried she took. “Ah mm ghmm mmm!” he said. “Oh, keep it stuffed, Devellyn,” she said. An open valise sat on the night table, and she
unceremoniously dumped the contents of his pockets into
it. Then she jerked out a length of rope, and snapped the
valise shut. He twisted his torso, and swung one leg off
the bed, almost catching her round the waist, but the
little jade danced away, the valise in hand. “Oh, Devellyn, you bloody idiot,” she said, swiftly tying
the bag to her body with the rope. “I wish you could see
yourself now.” She took the key from the door lock, and pitched it out
the window, then snatched a gray cloak from a peg on the
wall, and threw it over her shoulders. Her every movement
was quick and efficient. By God, she’d done this before.
For that, he was going to strangle her. Twice. He tried to
tell her so. “Amm ggnn kigg uggh!” he said, chewing furiously at the
stocking. Ruby just smiled, and pushed open the casement
window. “Ta, lovey.” “Gnnn unngh!” “Lawks, yes, I almost forgot!” She stepped a little nearer
the bed. “Promised you a peek at me dumplings, didn’t I?” The bitch. Rage ran blood-red through his brain. He shoved
at the wad of stocking with his tongue, thrashing so hard
the bed moved. “Now, don’t cut up so, Devellyn,” said Ruby, as she worked
down one side of her bodice. “Not unless yer wants an
audience up here.” She laughed as the creamy flesh
spilled forth, not quite baring her nipple. And then he
saw it. In the poor light, it was hard to make out, and
she didn’t dare come closer. But he could guess at what it
was. A black angel. She had a little black angel tattooed on
the far side of her left breast. Devellyn got his tongue wedged under the stocking, and
spat for all he was worth. The stocking burst from his
mouth and rolled down his chest, as limp as his now-
lifeless cock. “You bitch!” he roared. “You vile,
sneaking, cheating little strumpet! You don’t know what
you’ve done, do you?” She lifted one delicate eyebrow. “Coo! Don’t I? P’raps
you’d best explain it ter me.” “You’ve picked the wrong pocket this time, my angel!” he
roared. “And this time, you’ll have the devil to pay, do
you hear?” Ruby Black had one foot on the windowsill now, her hands
braced wide on the iron frame. “Good night, my lord,” she
said sweetly. “Sorry about yer shriveled tipstaff.” “The devil to pay, bitch!” he bellowed. “I am coming after
you.” Then the Black Angel laughed, and literally leapt into the
gloom.
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