Page 124 of Once an Angel
Two burly footmen flanked the front door, their battered, scarred visages looking incongruous beneath their powdered wigs. Tansy had assured her Mrs. Rose never dealt in "rough trade." With those two bulldogs guarding her gate, Emily could see why.
Emily froze as her gaze fell on a dark-eyed man leaning against the black marble mantel. She tugged the back of Tansy's skirt, bringing her to an abrupt halt. "I know that man. I met him in the park. Who is he?"
Tansy whispered. '"E's fabulous rich, that one. Some say a millionaire." Her pretty features took on a hard set, giving Emily a frightening glimpse of what she might look like after a few years of this life.
"But I can tell ya from experience 'e's got lots o' clever uses fer them pretty silk ties 'e wears—none of 'em decent. Stay away from 'im. 'E's more than ya can 'andle right now."
Emily suspected the grizzled old man dozing in Mrs. Rose's lap was more than she could handle. Her spirits plummeted as Tansy gave her a comforting wink and slipped away, leaving her to fend for herself.
She sank onto a settee in the shadow of the stairs and gave her lollipop a nervous lick. The virginal white of her skirt floated around her ankles in a diaphanous cloud so sheer she could see the shadow of her lace garters holding up her silk stockings. Flat white slippers adorned her feet. Dear Lord, what would her daddy say if he could see her now? Perhaps if she sat very still, no one would notice her.
Her hopes died as a portly gentleman sauntered over. He peered at her through an antique quizzing glass, his gaze lingering at her ruffled bosom. "My, my, what a precious little gel you are," he boomed out. "Would you like to sit on Uncle George's lap?"
Emily sucked noisily on her lollipop to keep from replying. She realized that was a mistake as his rapt gaze traced the shape of her lips cradling the hard, sugary candy. "Shy, are you? How delightful! Your uncle George loves shy little gels." Tittering, he tried to shove his bulk onto the settee beside her. "Scoot over and make room, won't you? I shouldn't wish to spank you for being ill mannered."
"Sorry, Uncle, this seat is taken." The voice was smooth and cold, like velvet ice. Emily looked up as
the shadow of the dark-eyed stranger she had met in the park fell over them.
Uncle George drew himself to his full height, huffing and puffing in protest. With taunting grace the stranger reached out and struck a match off the brass button of George's waistcoat. As he touched it to the tip of his cigarette, the dancing flame caressed the ruthless planes of his face.
"Well, I never . . ." Obviously deciding a hasty retreat might be in order, Uncle George trailed after a girl dressed as Queen Victoria, muttering something about his crown jewels.
The stranger propped his foot on the settee. The impeccable cut of his trousers hugged his long, elegant leg. Cocking an eyebrow, he offered Emily the cigarette. Shaken by her narrow escape from the jovial George, she snatched it and took a deep drag.
A paroxysm of coughing seized her. The man slapped her on the back. "Sorry. Turkish tobacco. Strong stuff. I should have warned you." He pried the cigarette from her shaking fingers, brought it to his lips, and inhaled deeply. Emily blinked away the burning tears, still wheezing. "You seem destined to rescue me, sir."
A smile played around his thin lips as if he were savoring some small, private joke. "I do, don't I?" His eyes flicked over her like hypnotic flames. "It seems you've become a bit more lost since our last encounter, cara mia." Her faint shiver at his endearment was not lost on him. "I fear you are correct,"
she agreed glumly.
The woman at the piano lurched into a new tune. The man dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out on
the Oriental carpet with his heel. "I despise Chopin. Why don't we retire upstairs, where we can talk without the burden of his tiresome romanticism?"
Emily eyed the silk folds of his tie nervously, remembering Tansy's warning. She had no intention of being led to her ruin by this urbane stranger. She searched the crowd for Tansy, but found no glimpse
of her. The brawny men at the door looked more menacing now. Were they planted there to protect
Mrs. Rose's blossoms, or to pluck them if they threatened to wilt before blooming? Her safest bet
would be to escape without an obvious scuffle.
Her hesitation cost her dearly. The man pulled her to her feet, his grip around her wrist as resolute as a silken snare. Perhaps she should just tell him the truth.
She searched his face earnestly. "I can't go upstairs with you, sir. I'm afraid I've made a dreadful mistake."
His eyes glowed with an unholy light. "So have I, my dear. But I intend to remedy it very shortly."
Twisting out of his grasp, Emily broke away and darted down the nearest dim hallway. Before she
could go more than a few feet, Barney Dobbins stepped out of a shadowy doorway, blocking her only avenue of escape.
He bared his yellowed teeth in a leer. "Ye'd best run back to yer fine fellow, Em. I 'eard 'e 'as a nasty temper if crossed." He lowered his voice to a taunting whisper. "I know ye're eager, but I can wait.
I ain't too proud to mop up the leftovers from them fine gents. My turn'll come soon enough."
Trapped, Emily backed away, as near to swooning as she had ever been in her life. God only knew
