Page 11 of Once an Angel
She couldn't tell if it was laughter or reproach that kinked the corner of the stranger's well-shaped mouth. While Penfeld retreated to the cast-iron stove, shaking his head sadly, the native squatted and grinned at her. To Emily he still looked hungry.
"Fix some for him, too," she commanded. "Or does he prefer blood?"
The stranger crossed his muscular arms over his chest. "Only the blood of virgins."
Emily pasted on her cockiest smile, determined to boast her way past these half-naked rogues.
"Then I've nothing to worry about, have I?"
A shadow flitted over his face but was gone before she could define it. Her mind raced feverishly. She was not in London, but halfway across the world in New Zealand. What if the dim-witted Barney had been wrong? If Justin Connor was living somewhere on this isolated stretch of coast, she would have
to flee as soon as possible. No body of land was big enough to hold the two of them.
A silver tray wielded by a pristine white glove slid into her vision. A dainty china cup perched on its gleaming surface. Penfeld held one hand behind his back with painstaking care. "Do forgive me, miss.
I lost my other glove in a thermal geyser."
"My condolences." She snatched the steaming cup. As she brought it to her lips, her sleeve threatened
to swallow it before she could.
The stranger knelt beside her and deftly rolled the cumbersome sleeves past her wrists. Emily gazed at
the top of his head. Threads of sun-burnished silver webbed his silky, dark hair. She brushed a riot of tangled curls from her own eyes, shied by his nearness.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"My pleasure, Miss . . . ?"
"Scar—" the word was halfway out before Emily could stop it. She took a deep swig of the coffee, scalding her throat "—let," she finished. "Miss Emily Scarlet."
If Justin Connor was somewhere nearby, she couldn't afford to have her name bandied about the island. Her guardian did not want her. He'd made that painfully clear by never retrieving her from the seminary. If she showed up on his doorstep demanding her share of the gold mine, she might meet the same fate
as her father's other partner, Nicholas Saleri. She might disappear. For good.
The man straightened. "Well, hello, Miss Emily Scarlet. I'm"—Emily noticed his hesitation as he exchanged a wary glance with Penfeld—"delighted to meet you. Would you care to tell us how you stumbled upon our humble shore?"
"I fell off a boat." That much was true anyway. She hoped God was smiling down on her. From the skeptical gleam in the man's crystalline eyes, she had a feeling she'd be needing all the heavenly help
she could get.
"Shall we send a message to Auckland for you? Perhaps we could locate this boat. Find your family."
Wonderful, she thought. Just what she needed. Another chance for the darling Dobbinses to sink their claws into her.
She shook her head violently. Coffee sloshed onto Penfeld's coat, eliciting a soft moan from the valet. "That won't be necessary. I have no family. I'm an orphan."
She couldn't help feeling rather pleased with herself. That was the second time she'd told the truth
today. And it wasn't even noon yet.
Her confession seemed to disturb her host. He rose and paced the hut, raking a hand through the scandalous length of his hair.
Emily sipped her coffee, studying him from beneath her lashes. Tansy would love to dig her pearly
little teeth into this one. She had to admit he was handsome in an unpolished sort of way. Tall, broad-shouldered, and just a shade too thin. The kind of man any woman would love to fatten up.
She tucked her toes beneath the coat, wondering where that last treacherous thought had come from.
