Page 88 of Once an Angel
He gently but firmly extracted his arm from her grasp. "We're in London now. Not New Zealand." His reminder was more for himself than for her, but it failed to dull his gnawing hunger.
He escaped her disappointed gaze by moving to the bed. A charming array of clothing had been laid out by the poor departed maid.
He caressed the softness of a silk stocking between thumb and forefinger. "You've been barricaded up here for three days. If I allow you to leave off this bustle thing, will you join us downstairs?"
Emily glared at the heap of feminine garments. "I'll not wear the gloves. They're ridiculous."
He rolled his eyes. "Very well. Forget the gloves." He tossed the stocking over her shoulder and turned away. "I'll be waiting for you."
"Now, that's a switch, isn't it?"
Justin stopped, his broad shoulders rigid. His exhaled breath echoed through the room. He left, pulling the door shut behind him with such pained gentleness that Emily knew he itched to slam it out of its frame.
* * *
Justin waited for Emily at the foot of the stairs. He had never seen so many people trying to look inconspicuous while milling around the foyer. Two maids dusted the tripod base of an occasional table while an underfootman polished the tinkling glass prisms dangling from a fringed lampshade. Their
gazes kept wandering to the top of the stairs, craving a glimpse of the severe little creature who had
dared to slap their master.
The long-case clock chimed the hour. Justin drummed his fingers on the banister. One of the husbands had parked himself on the bench of the cloak stand and was puffing away on a long-stemmed pipe.
Justin wondered if even his sisters could tell them apart. They all had the same tepid brown hair and
wore tweed jackets in lieu of more formal garments that might suggest they were going to leave the
house in search of other pursuits—such as gainful employment. He supposed this one was Herbert, spouse of Millicent. His bushy eyebrows were in desperate need of a combing.
Justin suppressed a sigh as Edith and his mother strolled arm in arm from the drawing room, their heads inclined as if enjoying a profound conversation, something he knew to be impossible. The last thing
Emily needed was an audience. She might take one look at their rabid faces and shy back to her room
like a frightened doe.
His fears melted as an enchanting vision appeared on the landing above, taking his breath away. This
girl bore no resemblance to the stern creature who had marched into the house. Her white dimity frock belled around her ankles, revealing a tantalizing hint of ruffled crinoline and kid slippers. Justin had
chosen the short frock himself to remind him Emily was little more than a child. A blue velvet sash hugged her slender waist and a matching bow tamed her curls. The warmth of a new and unexpected emotion flowed through Justin's veins—pride.
Emily's fingers were poised lightly on the banister. Her lips curved in a smile so sweet it made him feel
he was the only man in the room—or the universe.
Her smile never wavered as she hooked one leg over the banister, giving the entire foyer a healthy peek
at the starched layers of her petticoats. The duchess gasped.
Cries of alarm rang out as she threw both arms in the air and shot down the polished banister like a ruffled cannonball. At the last possible second Justin stepped out of the way.
She crashed in a disgruntled heap, her dress sprawled all the way up to the little pink rosettes on her garters. When both his mother and the footman started forward, Justin waved them back.
Emily glared up at him through the curl flopped over her eyes. "You might have caught me."
He bit the inside of his cheek, afraid to do so much as smile. "You might have descended the staircase
in a more conventional manner."
