Page 302 of Once an Angel
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.
The gloomy room was a study in masculine opulence. Decorated in the Turkish style, it boasted luxuriant Oriental rugs and fat leather chairs studded in brass. The day was already warm and the fire crackling on the hearth made it nearly unbearable. The palm plants scattered throughout the room drooped in the sweltering heat. Emily had barely taken two steps before she felt beads of sweat pop out on her brow.
Nicholas Saleri hovered near the door, his white-gloved hands clasped around the ivory claw of an
elegant walking stick. Emily barely noticed him. She was too amazed at Justin's transformation.
He sat hunched in a spidery wheelchair by the fire, wearing nothing but a silk dressing gown and a pair
of woolen stockings. His dark hair was rumpled, his brows drawn together in a fierce scowl. Penfeld fussed over him, smoothing a blanket over his legs.
Emily almost started when Nicky bowed and brought her hand to his lips. "Good afternoon, Miss Scarborough. I must admit your summons gave me a bit of a shock. I would have called on you sooner, but I feared you wouldn't consent to see me after our little misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding?"
He ducked his handsome head and gave her a sheepish look from beneath the obscene length of his lashes. "At the house in Mayfair. Knowing you a lady of quality, I sensed you'd become embroiled in circumstances beyond your control. I knew of a back exit, but I'm afraid you misread my intentions
when I sought to lead you to it."
Her gaze flicked involuntarily to the snowy folds of his tie. If Justin hadn't intervened that night, she wondered how long it would have taken before they found her strangled corpse.
She inclined her head, hoping he'd mistake her flush of anger for shyness. "An unfortunate incident, to
be sure. I fear it was a result of a rather unpleasant quarrel with my guardian. Let's speak of it no more, shall we?" Emily offered no more of an explanation, allowing him to speculate on the sordid circumstances that might have led a lady of quality to seek shelter in a notorious bordello.
He cast Justin a nervous glance and lowered his voice to a whisper. "His Grace's attendant suggested I
not approach him until you arrived. He said you had a calming effect on him."
Recovering her composure, Emily smiled sadly. "Only on his good days, I fear. Yesterday was one of those. We don't dare take him out too often." She forced her fingertips up to graze Nicky's swollen lip. "I'm sure you understand why."
A feral growl came from the other side of the room. Emily snatched her hand back.
"Dammit, man," Justin snarled, knocking away the box of cigars Penfeld was offering. "I don't want a cigar. I want my soldiers." His eyes narrowed as he peered through the gloom. "Who goes there? Do I know you?"
As Penfeld scrambled for the fallen cigars, Emily cast Nicky an apologetic look and rushed to Justin's side. She patted his hand soothingly. "There now. You mustn't fuss so. Your Emily is here now."
Justin wrapped his long fingers around her wrist and jerked her down to study her face. "Who the devil are you?" His voice rose an octave. "Mother, is that you?"
The devilish sparkle in his golden eyes was almost her undoing. She choked back a frantic giggle. "You remember me, don't you? It's Emily. David's Emily."
His face lit up with boyish pleasure. "Of course I remember you. Emily, my darling child."
He pressed a fervent kiss to her palm. She tried to pull away, but he refused to free her until she reached beneath the blanket and gave his thigh a sly pinch.
Throwing him a warning look, she crooked a finger at Nicky. "Look who's come to see you this fine afternoon, Your Grace. A very dear old friend."
Nicky approached, twisting his hat in his hands, but Justin ignored him. He tugged at the back of her
skirt instead. "Why don't you sit for a while, love? Perhaps we can play at soldiers together." His smile slanted to a triumphant leer. "My Napoleon came very close to mastering your Wellington last night."
She reached behind her and slapped his hand, all the while keeping her smile pasted on. He just tugged harder. Her seams groaned and she was forced to sit on the rug at his feet or risk losing her skirt altogether.
His fingers threaded gently through her hair; her scalp tingled a warning.
Nicholas cleared his throat. "Perhaps this isn't a good time . . ."
