Teresa Medeiros - Once An Angel

in the front row.

Justin stood, ignoring his sisters' protests. The soprano's aria soared, rattling the crystal drops of the chandeliers. Justin's fingers bit into the pearl casing of the glasses as he watched Claiborne loom over Emily. She whacked him with her fan. Undaunted, he grabbed her around her slender waist and planted

a sloppy kiss on her neck.

The soprano drew in a breath, and in that perfect lull of silence between one note and the next, Justin slammed down the opera glasses and shouted, "Dammit to bloody hell! I've had enough!"

Every eye in the opera house turned to Justin, even the shocked prima donna's. Her plump chin

quivered. The tenor quickly cut in, his magnificent voice wavering as he sped through the music to

bring the rattled company to the haven of intermission. The audience was more fascinated by the scandalous performance of the Duke of Winthrop.

The curtain began to unfurl. Penfeld lunged for the tails of his master's coat too late as Justin vaulted

over the rail and swung into the box below. The audience gasped, then began to pour out of their own seats, not wanting to miss a moment of the delightful spectacle.

Justin sped down the wide marble steps that led to the lobby, ignoring the crowds streaming around him. Towering columns limited his vision, but his gaze found Emily as unerringly as if she'd been the only woman in the room.

His voice rang out, echoing back from the vaulted ceiling. "Emily!"

The excited chatter faded to a breathless murmur.

Emily kept walking, her delicate slippers and narrow train forcing her into tiny, mincing steps. The

crowd cleared a wide .wath between them, recoiling from Justin's long, dangerous strides. He caught

up with her easily.

He fell into step behind her. "Get your cape. We're going home."

"You're insane. I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I said, get your cape," he thundered.

The crowd fell into dead silence.

Emily whirled around, her dark eyes flashing. "And what if I don't?" Her tongue darted out to moisten

her parted lips. "What are you going to do? Spank me?"

Swishing her skirt defiantly, she turned and marched away. Justin stood unmoving for a moment, then closed the distance between them in two furious strides. He grabbed her arm and pulled her around, jerking her against him.

A shadow of his New Zealand accent touched his speech, his low, flat words meant only for her.

"We're going home. Now, you can walk or I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you. It makes

no difference to me."

Emily went dead white except for the furious splotches of color in her cheeks. Her bosom heaved with impotent rage, but something in his eyes must have warned her he wasn't bluffing. She lowered her gaze to his buttons, her lips tightened in mutinous rebellion.

"Sir, your cloak!" Penfeld tossed the garment.

Justin caught it in one hand and threw it over Emily's shoulders. Two footmen swept open the double

gilt doors, letting in a blast of bitter cold. As the duke ushered his young charge into the night, the lobby

of the opera house erupted in a scandalized roar.

* * *

A light snow had begun to fall. It dusted Justin's hair as he handed Emily into the waiting carriage. She threw herself into the broad seat opposite him and slumped into a sullen knot. She shoved his opera

cloak from her shoulders, finding its rugged warmth offensive. It smelled warm and spicy, like Justin's bay rum. Like his bare skin heated by an island sun. A stray tendril of hair flopped out of her topknot;

she irritably raked it away.

The carriage lurched into motion. They rode in dead silence. Emily stared at the curtained window.

Justin stared at her. She could feel the condemning heat of his gaze.

The confines of the carriage seemed to grow smaller with each turn of the wheels. They were cordoned off from the winter night by the cozy glow of the lantern and the warmth wafting from the coal footstove. Justin seemed bigger somehow, more overwhelming. His arms were crossed over his chest, his long legs relaxed in an arrogant sprawl. Her senses were enveloped by the sound of his breathing, his heat, his masculine scent. An arc of tension sizzled between them.

When she could no longer bear the silence, she said, "Doesn't it concern you that half of London thinks you a madman?"

His eyes flicked over her like tawny flames. "Better than having them think you a shameless trollop."

She gasped, stinging from the unfair cut. "What's wrong, Justin? Does it gall you because a man found

me attractive? Because he dared to treat me as a woman, not a child?"

He snorted. "I'd hardly call that freckled toad a man."

"As avidly as you were watching us, you probably counted every one of those freckles. Wasn't your

own trollop holding your interest, or are you one of those debauched men who gets his thrills by spying on others?"

His eyes darkened. "What are they teaching at Foxworth's these days-de Sade? Your education has been quite extensive, my dear."

"Not as extensive as yours, I'm sure."

He spoke through gritted teeth. "When we get to the house, you will go directly to your room. I will no longer tolerate your insolence."

Her voice rose to a shout. "You can't tell me what to do. You're nor my father!"

Her words hung in the air. Justin went utterly still. A thoughtful glint appeared in his eyes. Then a smile

of profound wonder slanted his lips. "Why, I'll be damned. I'm not, am I?"

Then he was on her. He came across the carriage with the grace of a lunging tiger, bearing her back into the plush cushion. His mouth came down on hers in an unholy surrender to a dark and sweet temptation. His tongue savaged her mouth even as his hand reached up with cool calculation to extinguish the lamp, leaving Emily to drown in his taste, his fragrance, the feel of his hands hot and rough against the bare

skin of her shoulders. The darkness rendered him a dangerous stranger. His touch consumed her in

flame. She couldn't fight him. She could only cling to him, bunching the fine broadcloth of his coat in

her helpless fists.

Not only did she no longer know him. She no longer knew herself. Who was this wanton who moaned and tugged at the dusky silk of his hair, drawing him deeper into her kiss? Their bodies slid against the lush velvet, gliding downward, ever downward, into forbidden delight.

He muttered soft, rough words against her lips. His hands reached for her skirt, too fervent in their need to be anything but clumsy. She lifted her hips to help him until she lay beneath him, her dress bunched around her waist, thighs parted, garters and stockings sprawled in wanton abandon. A word that might have been either prayer or oath escaped him as he molded the damp cambric of her drawers to the silky mound beneath.

When his beautiful, strong fingers slipped beneath the fabric to touch her, Emily, who had so long prided herself on her fierce independence, hid her face in his shirt, unable to face the terrifying knowledge that there was nothing she wouldn't let this man do to her. Nothing.

Pleasure ribboned through her in dark cascades as he gently fingered her throbbing flesh, all of his haste and clumsiness vanquished by wonder and grace. Too soon she felt the first shiver of ecstasy approaching through the darkness. A soft cry escaped her as he brought her to a sweet, fierce climax that shattered them both.

For an eternity there was no sound within the carriage but the hoarse rasp of their breathing in the darkness. Slowly, other sensations came into play: the rocking motion of the carriage, the clatter of the wheels against cobblestones, the jingle of the harness ringing like a bell in the crisp winter air.

The bitter wine of guilt poured through Justin. Emily nestled into his chest like some small, fragile creature, kneading his waistcoat between her fingers. He had never meant to humble her, but to exalt her with his touch. A latent tremor rocked her, and he cupped his arm around her, beset by a fierce desire to protect what was his.

Take care of my little angel, Justin. Swear you will.

Even the memory of David's charge wasn't enough to stanch the fire flaming in his belly. She was as trusting as a kitten in his arms. How easy it would be to slide her drawers down over her knees. To part her gartered thighs and undo the buttons of his trousers, freeing that part of him that ached to take her

like the most common of whores on the seat of his carriage. He sensed that she wouldn't stop him until he'd plunged them both into the abyss of their own erotic destruction.

Emily's eyes fluttered open. Even in the darkness they had a luminous shine. "Was that in lieu of a spanking, or are you going to spank me later?"

A choked laugh escaped him. He raked a desperate hand through his hair. "Was I so harsh on you?"

"Monstrous," she whispered. "I shall take care to misbehave with far greater regularity."

"I don't believe my poor heart could stand it."

It wasn't his heart stiffening in protest as he reached down with shaking hands and drew his cloak over her. He didn't trust himself to smooth her stockings, tighten her lacy garters, or draw her skirt down to cover the pliant sprawl of her thighs. He didn't even trust himself to look at her.

He sank back into his seat and whipped back the window curtain to stare into the wintry night. A row

of elegant shops glided past. A frail finger of moonlight pierced the snow clouds.

Emily sat up, hugging his cloak around her. Her topknot of curls drooped over her brow. She blew them out of her eyes. "Perhaps Tansy was remiss in the more sordid aspects of my education, but I was under the impression that there was more." Her shy gaze flicked to his lap, then back to his face. "Much more."

Justin realized then that the walls he might build between them with propriety or excuses were flimsy structures, easily torn by his selfish passions. If he stayed, he would be forced to erect the one barrier he could never scale-Emily's hatred. And he would rather never see her again than to see her look at him with loathing for the terrible act he had once committed in a moment of desperation.

He knew of no other way to say the words than harshly and cleanly. "It was a mistake to stay here. I should have returned to New Zealand as soon as I found you."

A tremulous cry of joy broke from her lips. "We were very happy there, weren't we? I know we can be happy again. I can't wait to see Trini's face when he sees we've come back together. And Dani-"

"I'm going back alone."

The carriage slowed as they reached the congested traffic of Oxford Street. Justin heard the driver spit

out a foul oath as he vied with a crowded omnibus for a space in the narrow lanes.

"Why?" she whispered.

"The natives need me." The words sounded hollow, even to him.

She knelt on the floor between his legs. The cloak slid from her shoulders, baring their alabaster smoothness. Her imploring gaze searched his face. "But what do you need, Justin?"

Driven to desperation by her nearness, he cupped her buttocks in his hands and pulled her up against

him, molding her ruthlessly to his arousal. "This," he said hoarsely. "This is what I need."

She refused to be daunted by his crudity. A sad, sweet smile touched her lips. "For a handful of coins

you can find that in the arms of any stranger." She gently drew her fingers along his cheek. "What of tenderness, Justin? What of love?"