Teresa Medeiros - Once An Angel

for Harold to pop out of his bedroom and hit her over the head with something, believing her a burglar. The silence held its breath along with her.

She dared to move on, wandering the long corridors until she stood before the door to the master suite.

Its carved mahogany splendor dwarfed her. She lifted a hand to knock, then drew it back. Was this how Justin had felt at her door-like a desperate pauper come to beg?

She brushed back her curls, then lifted her hand again. She still could not find the courage to shatter the fragile silence. So she folded her trembling fingers around the brass handle and gently eased the door open.

As Emily peeped into Justin's room, an unbidden rush of fondness flooded her. She should have known

he wouldn't be sleeping at this late hour. He sat propped against the pillows, reading by the flickering

light of a single candle. The heavy curtains of the four-poster had been drawn back and tied with incongruous lengths of hemp.

The downy comforter rode low on his abdomen. His chest was bare, his hair tousled. The candlelight danced off his gold spectacles. There was something so compelling about eyeglasses on a handsome man-such a teasing hint of leashed potential that Emily felt her breath catch with desire.

He looked up then to find her peering in at him. His eyes darkened with surprise, then displeasure.

Seeing no chance of honorable retreat, she crept into the room and stood shivering in the middle of his Aubus-son carpet. A fire stoked by fresh coal crackled on the grate. Justin laid aside the book, then

drew off his spectacles and folded them on the nightstand. Emily approached the bed. It loomed over

her, sumptuous, warm, and inviting. Unlike its occupant.

"I … um … I wanted . . ." She stammered, unable to find her words beneath his harsh gaze.

He threw back the comforter and bounded out of the bed, dragging the sheet around his waist. Emily realized he was nude beneath it.

He paced the bedroom in long strides. "So this is what it's come to between us. You think you can waltz in here after you've made it clear what you think of me." He paused in his pacing to glower at her. "Do you think me so desperate I'd take any scrap you'd care to throw my way?"

Dumbfounded by his impassioned speech, Emily felt her mouth fall open.

He raked a hand through his hair and circled her. "How could you expect me to face myself in the

mirror tomorrow if I compromise my honor for a few fleeting seconds of ecstasy?" He caught her by

the shoulders and gave her a hard little shake. "Do you think you're so charming in that silly little nightdress that I can't resist tumbling you? Do you think I have no pride when it comes to you?"

"B-b-but I-"

"Well, you're right," he shouted. "I don't!"

With that, his lips came down on hers. Emily tilted her head back, giving the full measure of her mouth

to his possession. His tongue plundered her with warm, rough abandon. She answered his desperate plea with a soft swirl of her own.

He swung her around to the bed and laid her beneath him. His hands tore at her drawers, shoving them away with none of the artful preliminaries he excelled in. It was as if he were afraid any hesitation might give the lonely night cause to take her back. He pressed himself into her, groaning when he found her as ready for him as he was for her.

Emily wrapped her arms around him, shivering at his rough urgency. She had been cold before, but now

a molten fire was spreading through her blood. His tongue invaded her mouth, taking her there just as

his hips were taking her lower. There was a savage edge to Justin's love-making she'd never experienced before. Both shock and pleasure rippled through her as he dragged her hips to the edge of the bed and stood between her legs, spreading and molding her until she could feel each of his fierce strokes pounding at the mouth of her womb. She wanted to scream beneath the force of it. She bit her lip, tasting blood. She felt her eyes roll back as her body threatened to succumb to that dark netherworld between pleasure and swooning.

He cupped her face in his hands. "Look at me, Emily," he commanded her hoarsely. "Look at me now."

She met his devouring gaze, seeing the beautiful face of the man she loved strained in an agony of pleasure. Still holding her gaze in his golden vise, he pinned her shoulders to the bed, forcing her

writhing body still for an even deeper possession.

Without warning, spasms of ecstasy wracked them both, and not even Justin's mouth on hers could completely muffle her broken wail.

* * *

Emily awoke with her mouth pressed against Justin's chest. Their bodies lay in a sleepy tangle, her leg thrown over his, his arm cupping her rump. The fire cast fingers of flame against the shadows. Caught

in the cradle of Justin's arms, she found the massive bed warmer and cozier than she ever could have dreamed.

She rubbed her cheek against his chest, utterly sated. He had made love to her again after the first time, extinguishing the candle and taking her with such reverent gentleness it had made her weep. His hands had stroked and soothed her tender flesh as if to ease away the rough edges of their desperate coupling.

She sighed. If only the past were so easily vanquished.

Pulling the blanket over him, she sat up and delicately untangled herself from his embrace. As she crept out of the bed, every muscle ached in protest. She was surprised she could walk at all.

She had almost reached the door when Justin sat up. His bitter voice cut the shadows like a blade. "Leaving so soon? Did you get what you came for?"

Emily bit her lip, unable to stifle an odd little giggle. "No. Actually, I came to borrow some coal for my fire."

She eased open the door and slipped out, missing Justin's flabbergasted expression as he spread his

arms and flopped back among the pillows.

* * *

When Emily entered the parlor the following day, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. The servants hastened in and out with their feather dusters, shooting Justin nervous glances. Word of his relapse, hastened by the bizarre accusation made by the wealthy Italian at the Comtesse Guermond's

fete, had flown through their ranks. Emily had to admire his sisters' composure. They sat poking at their embroidery as if it were completely normal for their brother to be accused of murder, then to appear at midday garbed in nothing but his dressing gown and stockings. Although Justin was unable to explain the reason for his bizarre dress, he seemed to be maintaining a semblance of sanity while in their company.

Justin glanced up from his book as Emily claimed the balloon-backed chair opposite him. She was not completely able to hide her wince of pain as she sat. His gaze shifted quickly away.

The duchess beamed and held out an embroidered pillow. "Pillow, dear? Those unupholstered chairs

can be so uncomfortable.

"No, thank you," Emily mumbled.

Could his mother possibly have heard their uninhibited cries in the night? Justin wondered. He was saved from further speculation by the arrival of Penfeld, who tilted his disapproving nose in the air and announced, "A Mr. Saleri is here to call upon Miss Scarborough."

The color drained from Emily's cheeks. She exchanged a look of dread with Justin. Neither of them had expected Nicky to take the bait so quickly.

"Tell him I shall receive him in the garden," she said, rising.

Edith rose along with her, laying her embroidery ring aside.

"Down, Edith," Justin commanded. "Emily's a big girl. She doesn't need a watchdog."

Bewilderment touched Edith's eyes. "But I thought . . . surely a chaperone …"

The duchess rose and took her daughter by the arm. "I do believe I need a chaperone, dear. Shall we stroll to the conservatory and check the roses?" As she led Edith from the room, she cast both Emily

and her son a speculative glance over one shoulder.

* * *

Nicholas was waiting for her by a terra-cotta fountain, resplendent in a gray-striped morning suit. The

day was much cooler. As Emily approached him, she pulled the woolen hood of her cloak over her hair

to hide her expression.

He squeezed her hands and favored her with a melting smile. "Miss Scarborough, ever a delight. I

believe you are fresher than even the morning dew."

"Why, Mr. Saleri, you flatter me." He certainly did. There had been little time for rest between her nightmares and bouts of Justin's loving and she knew the bags beneath her eyes must be roomier than portmanteaus.

He drew her hands to his lips and Emily braced herself to be licked. The first haunting notes of Chopin's "Waltz in C-Sharp Minor" floated into the garden. Nicky paled and glanced toward the opaque plates of the drawing room windows. It was the first time she had ever seen him shaken.

"He still plays?"

She nodded. "At times. It's one of the few comforts left to him."

Recovering his composure, Nicky tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her down a cobbled path. "I could hardly sleep last night for thinking of our conversation. I fear you must think me the most despicable of liars."

The timeless strains of music drifted on the wind. Emily imagined Justin's strong, graceful fingers striking each key, sending her the strength to murmur, "I could never think ill of you, sir."

"Ah, but after all, it is my word against your guardian's. If only I could show you that land grant for the mine … do you think he has it in his possession here?"

Emily thought of the morass of papers and books moldering away on the North Island. "I doubt it. He was planning only a brief sojourn to England. He left all his papers in New Zealand."

Nicky shook his head. "How unfortunate. It's all I have to prove my story."

And all Justin has to prove his innocence, she thought grimly. "Even without proof I find you very convincing, Mr. Saleri."

He swung around to face her. Emily forced her expression to remain wide-eyed and ingenuous, hoping she didn't resemble a besotted rabbit.

He eased her hood back from her curls. "Please call me Nicholas, dear. Or even Nicky, if you would forgive my boldness."

His thumb stroked her cheek. He slowly lowered his head. Emily closed her eyes, praying God would give her the strength not to be ill. Before his lips could touch hers, a cacophonous banging shattered the moment. A raucous male voice broke into song:

Naughty Maud, the Shrewsbury bawd,

She'll steal yer purse an' tickle yer rod,

And still leave ya yell in' fer more, by gawd!

Nicky snatched his hand back, wincing. Emily hoped her choking noise would be construed as one of humiliation rather than laughter. She jerked up her hood and took a few hasty steps away.

Nicky dogged her, obviously eager to try a new tactic. "His behavior must be a constant source of embarrassment to you. Has he ever harmed you in any way?"

"Oh, no. I believe he's quite fond of me"-she hesitated for the necessary heartbeat-"in his way."

As they walked on, Nicky took the bait and began to weave his serpentine twists of logic like a web around Justin's story. Each irrefutable strand was sticky-sweet with his charm. He dropped constant hints about the missing land grant until she wanted to clap her hands over her ears and run screaming from his presence. Oddly enough, it was Penfeld who rescued her when he appeared in the garden and engaged their elegant guest in a conversation about the competing merits of Indian and Chinese tea. Shooting him