Page 4 of The Heiress Masquerade (Dollar Princess #2)

Stepping out of the carriage and onto the cobblestones of Fenchurch Street, Aimee glanced up at the tall brownstone building standing boldly before her. The grand structure took up an entire block, with its four-story-high marble arches towering in front of enormous double entrance doors, the gold letters Thornton-Jones Conglomerate etched onto a marble sign above them.

It was a testament to what her family had built from nothing. Turning a small business, ferrying people and goods across Manhattan Island, into a global shipping and railroad company that had a hand in moving most everything across America and was now making strides in doing so in England, too.

A company she was finally going to be part of, rather than a mere spectator on the sidelines. She could feel the warring emotions of exhilaration and nerves creeping through her, given the charade she was undertaking to do so. But standing here in front of this building, she was filled with a confidence she couldn’t explain. She was meant to be here.

“Miss Jenkins, please, won’t you change your mind?”

It took Aimee a moment to realize Fred was addressing her, the surname Jenkins still sounding odd to her ears. She glanced over her shoulder at him as he poked his head out from the carriage, almost like he was hoping that by staying in the vehicle he might be able to change her mind.

“Please, miss?” he said again, for maybe the tenth time since they’d left the docks. “Mr. Stone will have my head for not taking you to Mrs. Holbrook’s like I was told to.”

“There’s no need to fret,” she replied, happy she’d become rather adept at donning an English accent consistently, which so far hadn’t raised any questions. “I’ll deal with Mr. Stone and make certain he knows this was my idea. After all, my uncle is the boss of the company, and Mr. Stone can’t get too cranky with the boss’s niece, now can he?”

Fred nodded but still appeared unconvinced. “I suppose not.”

“It will be fine.” Aimee winked at him. “But, just to be sure, why don’t you go with the carriage driver and see that my trunk is delivered safely to Mrs. Holbrook’s, while I go inside and introduce myself.”

“Yes, miss.” Fred didn’t need telling twice. He smacked the side of the carriage and yelled, “Mrs. Holbrook’s,” to the driver. A moment later, the carriage disappeared into a swarm of other carriages heading down the street.

Taking in a deep breath, Aimee turned back to the building’s entrance. It was time to make her mark and learn absolutely everything she could of her father’s business. She lifted her skirts and strode toward the entrance, but then a high-pitched yelp echoed loudly to her left, and she swiveled around toward the sound.

A well-dressed man was rushing across the street, dragging a little brown dog behind him, yanking harshly on the dog’s leash, while the animal valiantly tried to pull in the opposite direction. “You stupid mutt, stop doing that,” the man growled, swatting the dog on its hind leg with his open palm.

Aimee gasped as the dog whined. “Stop that, you brute!” she called out to the man, but he didn’t bother to acknowledge her as he continued down the alley, tugging the dog around the corner.

Without another thought, Aimee rushed after them, certain once out of sight the man might be even more cruel. One thing she wouldn’t tolerate was an animal being mistreated.

She ran around the corner into the laneway and saw the man up ahead. He’d stopped in the middle of the road, his round frame straining while he wrestled to hold onto the lead as the dog tried to get away, with little success.

“You bloody idiot of a dog,” the man screamed, his breathing labored and his cheeks reddening. “You’ll come with me or I’ll tie some bricks around you and throw you in the Thames.”

“Don’t you dare touch that animal again!” Aimee yelled, running toward the man.

The man turned to face her, while she careened to a stop in between him and the dog. He blinked in surprise before he glanced down at her attire and his beady brown eyes filled with an expression of dismissal, followed by anger. “This is none of your concern, girl ,” he said, taking a step toward her, his fists clenching by his sides. “Now be gone before I shake some sense into you, too.”

Aimee felt her rage boil over. She’d never been so dismissed before, and all because she was wearing Evie’s simple outfit. “I’d like to see you try, you bloated old turnip!”

“ What did you just call me?” the man screeched, puffing out his belly, the buttons of his paisley waistcoat straining at the seams.

“You must be hard of hearing, too, for I called you a bloated , old turnip,” Aimee replied, the description rather apt given the man’s rotund body and pasty complexion.

The man’s jaw clenched and his nostrils flared, while his whole face reddened, almost like he was about to erupt. “You won’t be so insulting when you realize who I am.”

“I already know who you are,” Aimee replied. “You’re a cruel, horrid man, and I won’t let you hurt that dog again.”

“Won’t let me?” the man exclaimed, his eyes narrowing upon her. “How dare you! You have no rights here. My brother is a policeman and I’ll have him arrest you.”

“First, he can arrest you for animal cruelty.”

“You’re far too bold for a woman who clearly works in a menial position,” he spat out, his eyes narrowing further, until he was squinting at her.

“And you’re lucky I don’t shoot you for mistreating an animal,” Aimee replied, holding his eyes steady and raising her chin. “I warn you now, if you so much as try to hurt that dog again, or threaten me, you’ll regret it.”

She glanced down at the small dachshund who was cowering on the footpath, her big brown eyes fearful. Just looking at the poor creature had Aimee’s fists curling tightly into a ball.

“You’re the one going to regret speaking to me like that, you strumpet,” he hissed, his meaty hands reaching for her, but Aimee ducked out of his reach, then turned around and kicked him in the back of his knee. He toppled forward to the ground and lost his grip on the leash. The little dog used the opportunity to launch into a run in the opposite direction, her short legs a blur as she dashed out of sight and around the corner, her lead trailing behind her.

“That dog cost me money, you little bitch,” the man roared, twisting around, his hand lashing out and grabbing at her ankle before she could sidestep away from him. “You’re going to pay for that!”

“Let go of me, you fool!” She used her other leg and kicked him in the chest. He grunted with the impact, but his hand didn’t release her ankle. Instead, his other hand grabbed at her skirt and yanked her toward him, the momentum pulling her down on top of him.

Before Aimee knew what he was about, he used his bulk to twist her under him, his weight partially pinning her in place. It felt like a brick was on her chest, and for the first time she felt a sliver of fear crawl up her spine, but then an avalanche of fury began to consume her. How dare he!

The man heaved himself up on his arms, the exertion of doing so making his already flushed face even redder and giving her just the space she needed to slip her hand into her pocket.

“You should have minded your own business.” He exhaled harshly through his gritted, yellowing teeth. “You’ll pay for your insolence, you stupid girl, and then I’ll have you arrested for assault.”

“Let’s make it a good assault then, shall we?” She pushed her derringer through the material of her skirt and pressed it against the junction between the man’s legs. She cocked the hammer of the pistol and he froze. “What’s the penalty for shooting you in the nether regions?”

Fear leached into his eyes but then, without warning, the man was flung off her and tossed into the street like a pile of rubbish. Aimee glanced up, and standing above her, with the sun behind his head, was a golden-haired angel, wearing a frown on his face.

“Are you hurt?” his deep voice rumbled, the timbre of it echoing through to her very core, making her feel annoyingly uncertain, when only a moment ago, with the Turnip on top of her, she’d felt confident.

“I’m fine,” she snapped at him as she put her pistol back in her pocket before struggling to her feet, her annoyance increasing as the skirts of her dress got lightly tangled in her legs. “I didn’t need your assistance. I had the situation well in hand.”

“It didn’t look that way.” He raised an eyebrow and reached his hand out to help her, but Aimee knocked it away.

“Well, it was that way.” She steadied herself in front of him and glared at him with as much haughtiness as she could muster. She knew she was being ungrateful, but she was so sick of men taking charge and thinking she was helpless and couldn’t do anything. It was infuriating. “Trust a man to rush in thinking he has to save the day.”

The angel blinked. “Listen, lady, I was just trying to help you.”

She heard the twang in his accent and realized he was American, too. “I didn’t need your help.” She straightened up to her full five-feet-six-inches, which felt woefully short against his extremely tall stature. The man had to be at least six-foot-three and built like a brick, with his ridiculously large, muscular arms and chest. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a turnip to finish castrating.”

She turned and stalked over to where the turnip was trying to heave himself up from the pavement without much luck, given his short and bulky frame. She pulled out her pistol and aimed it directly between his legs as he came to his feet. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you.”

The man froze, a look of panic flashing in his beady brown eyes. “I say, there’s no need for that. I didn’t hurt you. I was trying to teach you a lesson…”

“Well, now it’s my turn to teach you a lesson.” Aimee cocked the hammer. “A lesson that will ensure you never underestimate a woman again.”

“Are you mad? You can’t shoot me!” the man yelled, desperation rife in his voice, before his eyes swiveled wildly across to Aimee’s left. “Aren’t you going to help?”

“No,” the angel said, his footsteps surprisingly silent for such a strong man as he came to stand to Aimee’s left. “She’s made it clear she doesn’t need my help.”

“I meant me, not her. Please, help a gentleman out?”

“You’re no gentleman,” Aimee scoffed.

“She’s right.” The angel gave a half smile, but there was little humor in his green eyes. “A true gentleman never lays a hand against a female. Ever. No matter the provocation. What you are is a pathetic excuse of a man.”

Then before Aimee could even blink, the angel’s hand darted out and grabbed her derringer from her hand, deftly disarming her as he un-cocked the hammer.

“How dare you!” she yelled, a sense of fury mixed with helplessness washing through her. Without her weapon, she felt naked. “Give me back my pistol.”

“As much as he deserves to be shot, I don’t have the time to deal with the ramifications of you doing so.” He glanced back to the turnip. “Get out of here,” he told the man. “And if I see you around this area again, make no mistake, I’ll be the one to shoot you.”

“My brother, who’s a policeman, will hear about this!” the turnip squeaked before turning and fleeing down the alley like the devil was on his tail.

As the man’s footsteps receded down the street, the angel turned to face her, staring at her as if he were cataloging her soul. A shiver ran down her spine at the scrutiny, but she didn’t feel scared; instead she felt more furious than she’d ever been.

“You have some nerve,” she growled at him, before quickly reaching out and snatching her gun back from his hand. The weight of the pistol instantly restored her confidence. But she took a step out of the angel’s reach to be certain.

“I told you I don’t have time to be embroiled in a police matter.”

“I wasn’t going to shoot him, only scare him.” She exhaled and shook her head. “You shouldn’t have bothered coming to my assistance in the first place, especially when I didn’t ask for your help or need it.”

“Clearly, you’re used to your fellow Englishmen and their propensity of doing nothing. But I’m American, sweetheart—”

“Don’t you dare call me sweetheart!”

“And when I see a woman struggling with a man on top of her,” he continued, “I’m going to help, despite the fact she’s clearly an ungrateful wench who doesn’t like help from anyone.”

Aimee gasped. The man was infuriating. “I don’t need help from an arrogant baboon of a man who should have minded his own business!”

“Better to be an arrogant baboon than a reckless, overconfident harridan of a woman.” He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “What stupidity possessed you to confront a stranger on your own and down an alley in the first place? Do you like getting yourself into silly situations where you can pull out your gun, or are you completely without any sense? My money’s on the latter.”

Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me?” The man had no right to berate her.

“It’s a simple question,” he replied. “Though perhaps you’d prefer I call it foolhardiness instead of stupidity? Or what about reckless, idiotic, or dim-witted, to better describe your behavior? I mean, what were you thinking? Clearly, you work in an office around this area, so you should know better than to chase a stranger down a side street.”

“I was saving a dog from that man!” The angel had turned into a demon. “I couldn’t leave the poor thing to suffer.”

“You should have gone and gotten help, not tried to tackle a man on your own. It seems your safety means little to you.”

“And you don’t think a woman can protect herself.”

The angel raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I saw how well you were protecting yourself with that fool on top of you.”

“I had my derringer pointed at his crown jewels.” Aimee raised her chin in the air and narrowed her eyes at the man. She’d never instantly disliked someone so fiercely before. “So I was protecting myself quite well, and if you hadn’t come along and played the role of completely unwanted hero, I would have had him off me in mere seconds.”

“With that little thing?” he scoffed, staring down at her derringer with a raised brow. “Do you even know how to use it?”

“I’m an expert shot, actually.” Aimee cocked the hammer. “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t seem concerned in the slightest, merely annoyed. “Your threat would be far more effective if you were holding a real gun instead of a toy.”

“Not only do you underestimate me because I’m a woman, you also underestimate the capabilities of my pistol, too.” She shook her head. “You men are all the same. Although in fairness to other men, you’re the most infuriating one I’ve come across.”

“Anyone as ungrateful and belligerent as you, princess , would surely consider every man you came across as arrogant and annoying.”

Aimee took in a sharp breath, straightening her spine to glare at him with all her might. The man was odious, even if he did look like a darned Adonis. “No, just you.”

“Given one of your hobbies is obviously trying to pick fights with men,” he continued, “you might want to carry a gun that deters a man. Something like this perhaps?” He flicked back his jacket, revealing the shining silver butt of a six-shot revolver nestled in a holster strapped around his hip. It was a beautiful piece, and one she and her father both had in their collections.

“A double action Frontier Model, Smith and Weston,” she said, wondering if he was trying to intimidate her with the piece. “It’s a beautiful weapon but hardly concealable in a skirt pocket like it is under your jacket. And though you might not be intimidated by my derringer, the two bullets in its barrel will still penetrate through flesh, no matter whether they’re twenty-two or thirty-eight calibers.”

“An Englishwoman who knows her guns and ammunition,” he murmured, interest sparking in his eyes. “Rather impressive and somewhat curious…”

“I’m not surprised you’d think that, given you believe women can’t take care of themselves and hence would have no knowledge of weapons,” she replied. “Again, you’ve completely misjudged the situation.”

His eyes narrowed. “I can’t save you. I can’t compliment you. Damn it, lady, you might be bloody stunning to look at, but you are the most ungrateful woman I’ve had the displeasure of encountering, with the sour personality of a bloody prickly pear to match.”

“The same can be said of you!” She squared up to him, feeling oddly flustered he thought her stunning, but equally upset he thought her ungrateful and sour. “And, yes, I might sound ungrateful, but I bet you’ve never been constantly underestimated and always told what you can and cannot do for your entire life!”

“You might be surprised,” he murmured, staring at her with those impenetrable jade eyes of his.

“Oh please,” Aimee scoffed. “You’re a man. You have no idea what it’s like to be a woman and pigeonholed into a certain role all because of your sex and station in life.”

She took in a deep breath, surprised that she’d bothered to try to explain anything to him. But for some reason the knowledge that he thought her ungrateful and sour rankled. Not that she should care what this man thought of her, but, surprisingly, she did.

“One should never make assumptions,” he replied, the first hints of impatience drawing across his brow. “In any event, I don’t have time for this nonsense. I’ve saved you from your own stupidity, and yes, a thank you for doing so would’ve been nice—”

“For the last time, I didn’t need saving.” The arrogance of the man was astounding. “You’ve got to be the most obnoxious, vexing jackass of a man I’ve ever met!” Aimee took in a deep breath, trying to recollect some semblance of calm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m the one who doesn’t have time for this as I need to get to work. Good day, sir.”

She turned on her heel and strode down the alley, determined not to even glance back at him, not even for a moment.

“You’re welcome, lady!” his deep voice hollered from behind her, sending a jolt of annoyance coursing through her. She paused for a moment and took in a deep breath. Let it go, Aimee. Just let it go. She resumed walking and kept her head held high, not giving him the satisfaction of a response.

She had a job to get to, and no one, not even a fallen angel who looked like sin incarnate, was going to distract her from that.