Page 142 of Once an Angel
"You'd like to ruffle them, wouldn't you?"
"I'd like to see him plucked, skinned, and thrown in the pot. That's why I've invited him to call this afternoon."
Emily straightened. "Have you gone mad?"
"Quite." He lowered his feet and rose. "At least that's what I want Nicholas to believe. We must force
him to let down his guard by convincing him neither of us is any threat. I can capitalize on my reputation as a lunatic, which, I might add, seems to burgeon with any public appearance you and I make together. So far he's seen me wrestling with the trained bears at a bordello, carrying you off on my shoulder like a barbarian, and smashing his pretty face over champagne at a countess's fete."
Justin would have sworn it was a sparkle of mirth that warmed Emily's eyes. "What would you have
me do?" she asked.
He could have answered that a thousand ways, but he choked them all back. Instead, he mustered his courage and folded her hands in his own. "You must portray the naive innocent seeking the truth about her father's death." She gazed down at their entwined hands. A wry smile quirked her lips. "Innocent,
eh? That'll be a bit of a stretch."
Justin dropped her hands and bent to shuffle a pile of meaningless papers. "You must promise me one thing. You're never to see him outside of this house."
"Why not? Are you afraid he'll compromise my virtue?"
Justin's hands spasmed. The papers scattered. Emily drifted to the window as if realizing she'd pushed him too far.
"You can't afford to forget that this man is very dangerous." He came around the desk, softening his voice with effort. "I'm still his legal partner, and you, my dear, are your father's only heir. We're all that stands between him and his precious fortune, and we both know to what lengths he'll go to protect it."
Her translucent skin seemed to absorb what little sunlight penetrated the narrow window. Justin stood behind her, aching to brush aside her curls, to lay his lips against the fleece at her nape. He clenched his hands to keep from touching her.
"I'm not asking you for love, or even friendship," he said softly. "I'm asking you for justice." She stood
as silent and unreadable as that damned doll she insisted on keeping on her nightstand. Once again he
felt that dangerous flare of anger and passion. The deliberate lightness of his tone belied his turmoil. "Think of it this way. If we succeed in proving his guilt, you'll be a millionairess. You won't need me anymore."
She pivoted on her heel, her smile as bright and cutting as a blade. "I'll do it."
Her ruffled sleeve brushed his arm as she walked around him. Before she could reach the door, it
opened from the other side to reveal a stalwart Penfeld.
She turned in a graceful swirl of wool. "It's safe to call off your dogs. I've no intention of running this time."
"Nor do I," Justin replied, jamming his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "It's also
safe to leave your bedroom door unlocked. I've no intention of going where I'm not wanted."
Color brightened her cheeks. Penfeld cleared his throat, choked, and doubled over, wheezing. Emily ushered him out, slamming the door behind them so hard that the glass panes of thesecretairerattled
in protest.
Justin sank back against the windowsill, a thoughtful smile playing around his mouth. Only time would
tell if he'd just earned himself a partner or an adversary.
* * *
Later that afternoon Emily paused at a gilt-framed mirror to smooth her skirt and pinch a smidgen of
color into her ashen cheeks. Her hands felt like ice as she braced herself to meet again the third actor in the grim drama of friendship and betrayal that had begun over seven years before. Justin had chosen the smoking room in the east wing tower for their reunion, and as Emily entered, it was easy to see why.
