Chapter 4 The Recommendations

Angell Summers POV

Miss McCarthy waved her hand in dismissal and headed for the stairs. Before he knew what he was about, Summer stood and cleared his throat.

Beauty, as he preferred to think of the lady, turned and fixed dark-lashes blue eyes on him. he felt the blood booth in his veins.

She raised a question. "Yes"

Though it only meant to rise as she passed, and I guessed it must have looked as if I were about to speak, so I did.

"Roosevelt's isn't the place to eat," I improvised, realizing as I spoke that the bumpkin accent I had affected for so long sounded especially coarse in the harsh light of the lady's refinement.

She moved not a muscle; She just stood there looking at me with those fine sexy calm eyes. The man who always follows her around stepped closer to me to take a clear stare, which is what I consider unwarranted hostility. I held up my hands and shrugged, and took one step backward.

"I'm not trying to be presumptuous," I pout out, pulling the word out with mild triumph from some extended unused glossary in the back of my brain.

"I'm just thinking your ladylike sensibility might be more affected if you spend the next three days in the privy," I declared openly.

I thought the words were valid, I nearly winced at my crudeness as they emerged, but I reminded myself it wasn't as if this conversation could go anywhere; anyway, I might as well play it up and see how much the lady could take.

Miss McCarthy's face took on a mild look of disgust. "And where might you recommend we dine, Mister... ?"

"Angell," I said and promptly doffed my hat, pushing it under my arm. I could still be polite.

Miss McCarthy covered her look of surprise at my name as soon as it appeared, something most people didn't even try to do, and I was impressed with my dark hair and bright golden skin; most people just laughed outright at the incongruous name.

"I appreciate you're not laughin' at my name, ma'am; most people can't resist it; I reckon it's my light-colored eyes mixed with my dark black hair. One lady told me I looked downright demonic." I laughed briefly before continuing.

"But she was a whore, so I don't suppose her opinion matters much," neither she nor the man appeared to have much to say to this, so I masked an amused smile at their Identical expressions.

I cleared my throat and repeated. "Anyways, I'm Angell Summer, Angell at your service, madam." I held out my hand, and the two of them looked at it with a grim look.

I withdrew my hand and continued "Lucretia, across the street," I announced.

"What?" The man, known as Mister Flynn, uttered.

"Suit yourself," I said, my graze swept back to Miss McCarthy's complexion, my eyes taking in her flawless skin, the clear eyes, the light brown sheen of her hair, unexpected desire like a hunger roiled deeply Into my gut.

"I reckon I was just trying to help." I took my hat from under my arm and placed it firmly back on my head, and started to turn away when she stopped me.

"Thank you, Mister Summer," her voice held the first note of warmth I heard. I turned back, and her slim white hand was outstretched towards me. "I appreciate your intervention. We will take your advice." An unaffected grin tugged at my mouth.

I took her hand in mine. "Happy to oblige," I murmured peripherally, absorbing the softness of her skin. With a nod and a sweet smile, she turned and walked up the stairs, followed by the pompous Mister Flynn.

I couldn't help but watch her go, admiring the sway of her hips under the delicate material of her pencil dress, the precise set of her shoulders, and the vulnerable curve of her neck where tendrils of her hair had escaped her wavy coil.

She was not the typical haughty belle, I reflected, bringing the fingers of the hand she'd touched towards my nose. Toulouse? Lilac. I folded my arms and sighed, gazing after her.

What would a man do for God to bless him with a woman like that? - Third-person POV He'd been thinking about her eyes and that cool, distant stare he'd been thinking about her long vulnerable neck and the arrogant confidence she had that her position would protect her from any passing ruffians.

But she proved herself human, and he'd ended up thinking Of her pearly skin and how soft that hair might feel if he were to plunge his fingers into it. The fact is he reminded himself, a woman like that doesn't eat, she dines, she doesn't need a bed and a bath, she requires a room, She doesn't rustle up some chow, she asks for a reputable establishment.

He didn't need a woman like that. Angell seated himself at a table toward the back of the room, close to the door so that if Miss McCarthy comes, he will see her without her noticing him. He just wanted to watch her for a while, he told himself, let himself imagine talking to her as equal, like the little man who followed her around. He wondered if the two of them were engaged.

Maybe they were brother and sister, and he thought brightly though they didn't look at all alike. He doesn't look a bit like her, not even for the most unregulated seconds. They didn't look alike at all. Miss McCarthy was all spun gold mixed with a touch of alabaster white, and The little Mister Flynn had dull gray eyes, dirt brown hair, and a natural brown expression.

He is a handsome man, but not a laugh line on his face. He's still too young to act old.

Angell opened the big book he had brought And scanned The cover page.

"Hi there, Angell," a feminine voice cooed.

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